


Fleur de Lys

by la_faerie



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Infidelity, Married Couple, somewhat of a mystery plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faerie/pseuds/la_faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne and Louis are an old-moneyed European couple visiting New York, where they stay at The Garrison, a hotel run by Treville and his four lively employees. Louis spends most of his time in meetings with a businessman called The Cardinal. Meanwhile, Anne falls for the hotel's handsome front desk agent. It soon becomes clear that the Cardinal and his mysterious assistant are up to something, and Anne needs everyone's help to figure out what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleur de Lys

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so grateful to Liberty, the Porthos to my Aramis. A huge thank you for reading this over, not just once, but twice!

 

_____________________________

New York traffic at midday is a special kind of gridlock, Anne learns, as she observes the city from the window of her sedan, stuck at a standstill. The sidewalks are populated on both sides of the street with the business crowd out for a power lunch. It’s a sea of men with briefcases, absorbed in checking their expensive phones and watches, constantly on a schedule.

Anne watches and sees that, equal to the business power lunch, is the ladies lunch. No matter what side of the street she looks at, women are everywhere. They bustle in and out of restaurants, they step out into the street to hail taxis, and they match the businessmen’s energy stride-for-stride.

Anne runs a finger around the edge of her mouth, subtly checking her lipstick, and feeling rather out of place. It’s different from Europe where lunch is a time of leisure, and, in many ways, the most important meal of the day. Still, it’s exciting just watching all of these people, all these women, going about their day. The sheer confidence they exude is like an injection of energy, which Anne sorely needs after a long trip over to the States.

The sedan finally snakes its way out of the endless traffic jam and pulls up in front of the hotel. The Garrison is prime Manhattan real estate, situated right on the cusp of midtown and the Upper East Side, which is surely what had appealed to Louis. The building itself isn’t anything elaborate from the outside, just sturdy grey stone, but doormen dressed in French royal blue uniforms offer friendly smiles, and a warm, inviting light emanates from the front windows.

“Madame, I’m afraid we’ve arrived before Louis,” the driver tells Anne as he holds the car door open for her.

“Even in all that traffic?”

The driver gives a wry smile. “He’s stuck in the same traffic himself. Will you be alright checking-in alone? I’m happy to assist you.”

Anne takes a deep breath, summoning some reserves of energy and confidence of her own. “Thank you, Pierre, but I’ll be fine.”

A young-ish looking doorman offers to help Anne with her luggage. Anne watches him unload her things for a moment, noticing his cheekbones and his hair falling across his forehead. Then she laughs to herself, he must be barely twenty-years-old. And he’s just doing his job. She reminds herself to tip him later.

Another doorman (this one appears slightly older) holds the door open for her. He smiles at her as though they already have an in-joke with each other, and it doesn’t feel strange. It feels genuine, and she finds herself smiling back at him.

“Welcome, Madame,” he says in warm voice. “I see you have just a little bit of luggage here,” he gestures with a wink to several trunks that the young man is still unloading. “If you head to the front desk, d’Artagnan and I will meet you in the lobby with your things.”

“Thank you,” she says, a little overwhelmed by the friendly tone of the service.

The front desk is a little bit different. There are no guests in front of her in line, she must have arrived during a lull in business. There are two men standing behind the desk, one with a stoic aspect to his face and the other with rather unruly hair and a restless air about him. They appear to be arguing with each other, but not looking at each other, only speaking out of the sides of their mouths, as though Anne won’t notice what they’re doing.

“You can’t call it keycard bowling, Aramis,” the stoic one whispers. “It’s not bowling if you’re not knocking anything down. It’s more like… skating.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Athos,” the unruly one bites back. “Keycard skating is an absurd name for a game.”

Anne approaches the desk slowly, trying to decide which of the quietly angry lunatics she should address herself to.

“No more absurd than keycard bowling,” Athos hisses.

Aramis looks like he’s about to tell Athos where he can shove his keycard, but thinks better of it. Instead, he clears his throat and turns to fully face Anne.

“My lady,” he addresses her in an overly gallant voice. “Please excuse our manners.”

“We’re having a little disagreement,” Athos says, his face not quite as impassive, but still not quite smiling.

“Gentlemen.” Anne smiles and sets her handbag down on the desk. “My husband and I have arranged for an indefinite stay here, and, I have to say, we would be crushed if the two of you couldn’t manage to work things out between yourselves. This sounds like very important business, indeed.”

Aramis gives her a full smile then, and Anne is a little surprised by how disarming it is. “An indefinite stay?” he comments. “You must be the couple who booked the penthouse suite.”

“Yes, er...” Anne glances around her, very much a single at the moment. “My husband went straight to a meeting from the airport. He would be here by now if not for traffic.” She pauses and turns on a charming little smile, because it’s worth a try. “I’m wondering, would I be allowed to check-in now for the both of us?”

Athos and Aramis seem to be doing a lot of clicking around on the front desk computer. They exchange a glance, quickly coming to a decision between themselves.

“Of course,” Aramis says, giving her another full-on smile. She and Aramis seem to be trading smiles back and forth. “We can give you a key right now.”

“We’ll take your husband’s information when he arrives,” Athos adds, and Anne knows he means the financial information, as though that kind of thing is above Anne. “And we’ll need to see some form of ID from you now, just to confirm.”

“Of course,” she slides her passport across the desk. “I’m Anne. The reservation will be under de Bourbon.”

Athos takes a cursory glance at her passport, then hands it to Aramis while he cuts a new room key.

Aramis locks eyes with Anne, and she finds that she needs to grip the desk for balance. His eyes are a warm, inviting shade of brown, with unexpected depths swirling within. Anne has the impression of stirring milk into a strong cup of coffee.

“Anne,” Aramis pronounces, as though testing how the name feels on his tongue.

“Aramis,” she replies, with a little nod to the name tag on his uniform. He returns her nod and hands her passport back over without breaking eye contact.

Anne looks away to accept a room key from Athos.

“The penthouse is completely private,” Athos explains. “So you’ll need to use your keycard in the elevator to access that floor.”

“And it looks like…” Aramis looks beyond Anne. “Yes, I see two idiots—otherwise known as Porthos and d’Artagnan—over by the elevators ready to escort you and your luggage upstairs.”

Anne laughs. “Thank you, both of you. Louis, my husband, will be in soon.”

“We look forward to meeting him,” Athos says, and Anne believes the sincerity in his tone even though the impassive look on his face says anything but.

Aramis gives a crisp nod. “We’ll take care of everything,” he says in a tone that’s harder to read.

“Behave,” Anne instructs the two of them with the hint of a grin. Then she collects her handbag and her keycard, and heads over to the elevator bank.

 

Later that afternoon, Anne and Louis have some downtime. They’ve been to New York many times together, so they’re used to the city, its sights and its sounds. They’ve stayed all over the city: at The Carlyle, The Plaza, The Waldorf, all the usual places.

The Garrison is a little bit different. For one thing, it’s a newer property in a recently renovated building. It had come highly recommended as a charming spot in the city. Louis would normally hate anything nouveau, but as Anne and Louis look at each other now in the living room of their penthouse suite, they both have to admit this place has its own kind of charm.

The decor seems to be aiming for a rustic, old Provençal feel, so that everything is done in hardwood, with beams cutting across the ceilings, and wrought iron light fixtures. Even the penthouse is done in freshly waxed hardwood floors, and most of the space in the master bedroom is taken up by a heavy mahogany bed frame with bedposts that reach nearly to the ceiling. There are French royal blue accents everywhere: area rugs, the bath towels, the bed pillows. And the fleur-de-lys symbol is given pride of place, emblazoned on keycards and on the elevator doors. It seems to be the official emblem of the hotel, a detail that makes Louis smile.

The effect is that the hotel feels cozy and intimate, no small feat for a property of forty storeys. And despite the dark wood decor, the penthouse is full of light, as one entire wall of the living room is made of windows. Anne and Louis both get caught up in surveying the view. The windows look out over Fifth Avenue, and there’s a view of the Plaza Hotel and a section of Central Park. It’s mid-October, and the leaves on the trees are just starting to change, a slow simmer of fiery orange and yellow spreading across the park.

Anne and Louis hop from window to window, like excited little kids, pointing out various details to each other. Finally they collapse onto the sofa. Anne leans back into the cushions, jet lag catching up to her.

“Let’s order dinner in tonight,” she suggests. “I’m too tired to go out anywhere.”

“Good idea,” Louis agrees, stretching his arms. “We need energy for tomorrow anyway. Do you want to come with me to my meeting in the morning?”

Anne looks at Louis, trying to assess what he means. He doesn’t usually ask her along to meetings. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“I don’t know,” Louis answers honestly. “It’s with that big shot Manhattan property tycoon from Cardinal North Realty. Apparently, this guy actually goes by the name of The Cardinal himself, although he’s not religious. It’s all very fantastical. We’ve never met in person before, so I have no idea how it will turn out.”

Anne considers for a moment. “Why don’t I meet you for lunch afterwards and you can tell me all about it.”

Louis nods like this is the absolute right decision. “You’re always good at planning.”

“That’s why you married me,” Anne says with a smile, but it’s much more the truth than a joke. “I’m going for a bath now,” she says, standing up. “Will you look for the room service menu?”

“Sure,” Louis casts around. “What do you want?”

“Just coffee for now,” Anne answers. “With milk.”

She closes the bathroom door, stands with her back to it, ready to have some time alone with her thoughts.

+

“Athos will be pissed off,” d’Artagnan laughs, as Aramis manages to knock over a stack of matchboxes with a keycard.

“He’s the one who wanted proper bowling,” Aramis declares, fistpumping in victory. “So here we are. Anyway, I’ve always had better aim than him, he can’t be too upset.” Aramis shines the card on his jacket and then passes it to d’Artagnan. “Your turn.”

“Where is Athos anyway?” d’Artagnan asks, lining up his keycard and closing one eye for better aim. “Isn’t he supposed to be on door duty with Porthos?”

Aramis laughs to himself. “He’s probably practicing a smile in front of a mirror somewhere. Treville told him that his gloominess is off-putting to the guests. He’s only allowed to work the door with Porthos. You know, since Porthos is so lively, they balance each other out.”

“Treville actually told him that?” d’Artagnan laughs. “That’s harsh, man.” He lets go of the keycard and it slides across the wooden desk to hit one of the matchboxes.

“Not bad,” Aramis congratulates him. “Anyway, Porthos makes the best tips out of any doorman in the entire city, the cheerful bastard.”

A sly grin spreads across d’Artagnan’s face. “I heard that you make pretty good tips yourself.”

“Yes, well,” Aramis adjusts the collar of his uniform. “Not all of my tips are in cash, as such. Now it’s my turn, let me have the card.”

But d’Artagnan doesn’t hand the keycard back right away. He taps it against his temple, as though thinking something over. “The other hotels I applied to, well, they were different. I had to apply to be a bellhop, or a doorman, or a front desk agent, specifically. There wasn’t any of this shifting around.”

“It’s true, Athos, Porthos, and I… we do a little bit of everything here.”

D’Artagnan narrows his eyes slightly. “You’re not exactly clarifying things.”

“Treville might look like a conservative guy, but he doesn’t always play by the rules.” Aramis gives a little laugh. “He probably wouldn’t have hired me if that were the case.”

D’Artagnan laughs hesitantly, as though he’s not quite sure that he knows Aramis well enough yet to laugh at him. Aramis claps him on the back and lets his hand rest there.

“Me either,” d’Artagnan admits in a low voice. “Well, obviously,” he gestures around the lobby. “The Garrison is the only place that offered me a job in the end.”

Aramis gives d’Artagnan’s shoulder a little squeeze. “And it’s a good thing, too. Come on, you survived working the overnight shifts. You can get through anything now.”

The two of them grin at each other, and Aramis teasingly pulls at d’Artagnan’s hair a little bit before they break apart.

Aramis cleans up the matchboxes just in time for a little flurry of activity to hit the lobby. Porthos directs a couple of guests inside and, while d’Artagnan practices his front desk skills by checking them in, Aramis notices there’s also a rustling of activity over by the elevators. A group of women are stepping off one of the elevators, all chatting between themselves, their handbags and heavy expensive bracelets all jangling against one another.

“Ooh, it’s her,” d’Artagnan whispers, nudging Aramis in the side.

“Who?” Aramis asks, even though he knows perfectly well.

She is at the center of the little group, and Aramis sees snapshots of her before he can put the picture together as a whole. There’s the handbag she carries for daywear: a soft cream lambskin Chanel. Her black patent leather shoes clack against the hardwood floor as she makes her way across the lobby. Her gold jewelry shines, radiating light around her. It’s not gaudy, but it’s certainly enough to project an image of wealth.

Then there’s her face. Aramis has noticed she always wears her hair pulled back, sometimes in a bun, sometimes in an elaborate fancy braid for dinners or events. He likes that he can see her face so clearly, but her expression doesn’t always reveal much to him. Even now, she looks to him as she and her friends pass by. They make eye contact, and it only lasts for a second, but it feels much longer to Aramis. Her blue eyes are clear, and he wonders what message he might read there if only they weren’t surrounded by all these other people, by all this extraneous noise.

D’Artagnan is still whispering in his ear as Anne and her friends step outside to meet their car. “We call her the Queen, me and Porthos. Queen Anne. Queen Anne with all her ladies.”

Aramis gives him a sharp look. “Why do you call her that?”

“She tipped us a hundred _each_ when we first took her bags upstairs. And then she gave me a fifty one time just for carrying a couple of shopping bags upstairs for her.” d’Artagnan clutches his chest and puts on a silly voice. “She’s a very generous queen.”

Aramis smacks him in the chest. “Don’t let her overhear you talking about her. Calling her names and shit like that.”

“Yeah, but I’m saying nice things about her. Because she is nice. Anyway, why are you so invested?”

“I’m not,” Aramis grits out, folding his arms across his chest.

“Right.” A wicked smile flickers across d’Artagnan’s face. “Can I take my break now?”

“Sure,” Aramis waves him away. “Whatever.”

“Thank God,” d’Artagnan whoops. “I can’t wait to tell the others that you have a crush on the Queen!”

“What?” Aramis yells in d’Artagnan’s wake. “That’s not... I don’t!”

But d’Artagnan is already gone, cackling the whole way.

 

_So what?_ Aramis tries to tell himself later when he’s on a break of his own. He has a bit of a reputation for having liaisons with guests, although, technically, it’s all hearsay since he’s never actually been caught out. It’s never been a big deal, and he’s never gotten in trouble for it. Discretion is paramount.

But it’s been awhile since any of those casual liaisons. It’s been, he knows, since Anne first arrived at The Garrison. He’s seen her nearly every day for three weeks now. He’s seen her with her friends, he’s seen her with her husband, and he still doesn’t know her any better than he did the first time they met.

Aramis sees less of Louis than of Anne, as Louis’ schedule seems to be fully-booked. Louis and Anne often take the elevator down together in the morning, stopping off at one side of the lobby for breakfast in Bonacieux’s where Constance takes good care of them. Louis then kisses Anne on the hand, like some chivalrous courting ritual, before heading outside to meet his driver. It’s their little routine, and Aramis supposes that it’s sweet. He’s certainly seen worse behavior from married couples.

Still, he’s noticed that they have no children. Maybe it was a mutual decision. Maybe they had tried and had run into difficulties. Maybe they had never tried. It’s hard to judge other people’s marriages from the outside, and Aramis has never been married himself.

So, Anne breezes through the lobby everyday, decorated in gold jewelry, and returns to the hotel in the afternoon, laden with shopping bags. She still sometimes catches his eye from across the room, and Aramis is certain there is more there in her gaze, more to her than the allure of money, more to her than a veneer of gold.

+

It’s an unseasonably warm day for the end of October, and Anne breathes a sigh of relief as she steps into the cool air-conditioned lobby of the Garrison. She’d been out by herself this afternoon without Louis, without Pierre the chauffeur, or any of her city acquaintances. Right now, the thing she’s most looking forward to is going up to the suite, where she can take off her heels and put her feet up.

She pauses in the lobby when she sees that Porthos has landed front desk duty this afternoon.

“You’ve got the fancy job today,” she says to him, with a smile. “Are you all by yourself?”

“I let d’Artagnan work the door today,” Porthos explains. “This is probably the last nice day we’ll see until next spring, let the kid enjoy it.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Plus,” Porthos leans across the desk and speaks in a lowered voice. “I’ve got a chair stashed back here behind the desk. I can sit down for a few minutes when it’s not busy, but don’t tell anyone.”

Anne puts her finger to her lips. “It’s our secret.”

“It is a bit sad though,” Porthos continues. “With d’Artagnan outside, and Athos off on some security training thing. And Aramis has the day off.”

“You’re lonely without your friends.”

Porthos claps a hand to his chest. “A sad, lonely soul. But at least I have my chair here.” He grins, and then straightens up. “I’m sorry, I’m being unprofessional. I should have asked, do you need anything? Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, don’t worry. I only stopped to say hello to the lovely, kind soul here.” Anne taps her fingernails on the desk to emphasize the lovely and kind bits. Porthos gives her a genuinely warm, grateful look, and Anne gives him a smile as she walks away.

She loosens the silk scarf tied around her neck, and continues smiling contently to herself as she waits by the elevators (Porthos tends to have that effect on people). The elevator arrives and Anne rummages in her purse for her keycard. She steps onto the elevator, and there is a long minute where she doesn’t fully register what’s happening.

Someone else steps onto the elevator while she’s sliding her key and pressing the button for the top floor. She stands aside to let the other person find their own floor, but the person makes no movement. Anne looks up, and sees that her elevator companion is a man wearing a black trenchcoat, with a heavy red scarf tied around his neck, and he’s staring right at her.

Anne feels her stomach sinking, but she tries not to let it show on her face. “Excuse me, sir,” she says, as the doors close. “Do you need to choose your floor?”

“No,” he says giving a chuckle and glancing disdainfully around the elevator, which is now moving inexorably toward the top floor. “I won’t be staying long. You probably don’t know me, but I believe we have an acquaintance in common.”

“If you have business with my husband, you really should take it up with him.”

“Ah yes,” the man nods. “Louis said you were smart. But where are my manners? Let me introduce myself properly to you. My name is Armand, but many people refer to me as The Cardinal,” and he makes a gesture towards his red scarf.

Anne glares, thinking how sweltering he must be in that heavy coat and scarf. This man is presumptuous, ridiculous, possibly dangerous. And soon to have full access to her living quarters, as the elevator is about to arrive at the top floor.

“If you have a point to make,” she says to him. “I suggest you come to it, Cardinal,” She raises an eyebrow as the elevator comes to a stop with a _ding_ and the doors pull open.

To her relief, the Cardinal makes no move to intrude into the suite, but he does put a hand up to hold the elevator doors open.

“I imagine that you know your husband well, Madame,” he begins, “far better than I do. But I think we can both agree that he is sometimes…” here the Cardinal shakes his hand in a so-so motion, “...not the most reasonable of people. I’m hoping that I can count on you to help guide him into making the correct choices.”

Anne steps out of the elevator, her shoes sounding thunderous against the hardwood floor of their suite. She turns to face him as he remains on the other side of the elevator threshold.

“My husband and I always make decisions together. And I think you’ll find that you and I have very different views on what constitutes the correct choice.”

“That may be,” The Cardinal says, beginning to back up. “But, then again, you might be surprised. Our priorities might yet align.” With this ominous pronouncement he lets the doors close, and Anne hears the gears of the elevator working as it descends back to the ground floor.

She drops her purse and her shopping bags, and lets out a long shaky breath. She is finally able to take off her shoes, but she feels no relief or relaxation.

Louis had told her that the Cardinal has a flair for the dramatic, but not that he has an intimidating streak. She’ll have to speak with Louis about this, but she will have to approach it carefully. It seems there is something the Cardinal isn’t telling Louis during their endless meetings, something that he means to communicate only to her.

And then she will have to speak with someone downstairs, too. Someone from security or the front desk should be alerted, but she also needs to be careful of what to say there. _Watch who gets on the elevator with me._ It sounds silly and self-centered, snobbish, even. They might not take her seriously, and neither Athos nor Aramis were even on duty today in the lobby anyway.

Anne unwraps her silk scarf all the way from around her neck, resting two fingers on her collarbone, and letting herself breathe more deeply. _Aramis_. Just thinking the name feels like an indulgence, especially at a time like this. She rarely dares to say it out loud. But perhaps she will need to speak with him, after all.

Anne imagines explaining to Aramis how tight her stomach had felt, how dry her mouth had been, and how she tried to keep her voice as steady as possible while telling off the Cardinal. She imagines how he would hold her gaze and listen closely, and somehow she doesn’t feel quite so silly about the whole thing anymore.

She collapses down into an armchair in a corner of the living room. Louis will be back soon, and there is an event tonight that she’ll have to dress for. For now, however, Anne is content to take a moment alone to bask in the complete silence of the suite.

+

Aramis is fresh off of his break (and an espresso) when he runs up behind Porthos in the lobby, punching him on the shoulder, maybe a little harder than he meant to.

Porthos doesn’t even have to turn around, he knows exactly who it is. “You think you’re so tough,” he says, rubbing at his sore shoulder.

“I don’t think it, I know it,” Aramis brags.

Porthos gives him a funny little grin, his eyes sparking. Something about the way his eyes are lit up has Aramis’ confidence faltering.

“Well, you have a chance to prove it,” Porthos says lightly. “We’ve all been waiting for you to get back from break. The Queen called down to say that she needs to speak with you. She asked for you specifically.”

Aramis just stands, struck utterly speechless, and gaping at Porthos like some kind of lost fish.

“Let’s see how tough you are in front of Queen Anne,” Porthos says, returning the shoulder punch.

Aramis sways on his feet for a moment, and then leans in so close to Porthos that their foreheads are almost touching “If you’re fucking with me,” he whispers, “I swear to God, Porthos. The elevator opens right into their suite! I can’t just appear there!”

Porthos throws his head back in a hearty laugh. “Exactly, I wouldn’t fuck with you about this. Now get upstairs before she thinks we’re all slacking on the job.”

The elevator ride up to the penthouse feels both interminable and too quick. Aramis tries to calm his hair and regrets his coffee breath (and the fact that he doesn’t have a mint or gum). He forces himself to stand still and stop fidgeting, trying to look proper in his uniform. Because, he reminds himself with a tightening in his chest, she might have called him up here because he had done something wrong. To her, he is only an ambassador of the hotel, and, therefore, Aramis steps off of the elevator determined to represent the hotel and Treville as best he can.

The living room is bright and full of light, as the blinds are all open, and the afternoon sunlight is at its brightest just before an early autumn dusk settles in. Anne is standing by the coffee table, where she’s setting down a magazine. Aramis notices that her hair is down, falling in soft waves around her face. Sunlight shines around her, framing her hair, and he tries not to think that she looks angelic, can hear Athos and d’Artagnan snickering in his head, can hear Porthos laughing and telling him that he’s too cheesy for his own good.

Now isn’t the time for cheesiness, so Aramis clears his throat. “I’m sorry to walk in on you like this,” he begins. “But I heard that you had called downstairs for me?” He frames it as a question, as though checking that she wants him here.

Anne gives him a sympathetic smile like she understands. “Yes, I did. Thank you so much for coming up.”

“It’s no problem at all, Madame. How can I assist you?”

“Firstly, please call me Anne.”

He bows his head. “What can I help you with, Anne?”

Anne takes a deep breath and clasps her hands together as though in prayer. “I have a question for you, and you’ll probably find it to be a strange one. But, can you tell me what you know about a man who goes by the name of The Cardinal?”

“The Cardinal?” Aramis lets out a raucous laugh. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s the last thing he expected to hear from her. “For starters, he isn’t really a Cardinal. He isn’t any kind of religious man. Excuse my French, but he’s more of an almighty bastard.”

Anne raises an eyebrow. “Oh yes?”

“Definitely. He and Treville have been feuding for years. He’s tried to buy this building several times. He doesn’t really care about the Garrison, he just wants another property to show off. Treville actually got so furious with him, that he banned the Cardinal from the premises.”

“The Cardinal is banned?” Anne asks, an edge to her voice.

“Well, it’s not official. It’s not like a restraining order or anything. Treville isn’t the actual owner of the hotel, you see, he doesn’t have enough money. Another company funded the renovation of this building and they’re still the majority owner. Anyway, Treville vowed to get lawyers and cops involved if he ever caught the Cardinal at the Garrison again. Haven’t seen his slimy face for years now.”

Anne lets a little smile pass at this comment. Then she straightens up and braces her shoulders. “If the Cardinal really is banned from the Garrison, then there’s something you need to know: he’s been here recently. He was here just the other day. To see me.”

“What?” Aramis cries, stepping towards her and trying to process all this information. “He was here? For you? Are you alright?”

Anne holds up her hands as though to stop him. Aramis has to stop anyway, as he’s run into the coffee table. The two of them stand, separated, but eyes locked.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Anne begins. “But my husband and I are in New York because we’re looking to purchase some property here. Louis has been working with the Cardinal’s realty company to find something suitable. I haven’t been to any of their meetings, so I can’t comment on how that’s proceeding. But the Cardinal made a point to visit me here, when I wasn’t with Louis. I’m trying to work out what his motive was, what game he’s playing.”

“Have you told your husband?” Aramis asks, not sure if he’s allowed to throw Louis’ name around casually.

Anne nods. “I told him that the Cardinal came to see me. He agreed that it was odd, but I didn’t speculate with him about what the Cardinal might want.” Anne pauses. “Louis’ moods can be… changeable. I don’t want to alarm him. Not yet, anyway.”

Aramis runs a hand distractedly through his hair. This all sounds rather ludicrous to him: Cardinals who aren’t really Cardinals sneaking around the building. Anne not wanting her husband to be worried when, in Aramis’ opinion, Louis should be gravely worried about a business partner paying ominous visits to his wife. Louis should be desperate to protect this woman at all costs… but Aramis has to cut off his own train of thought here. He wills himself to be helpful instead of getting emotionally invested when it isn’t his place to do so.

“Athos has just been looking over a new security system for the building,” he explains. “I’ll check with him about how it works. We’ll also scour old footage for any sign of how the Cardinal got into the building in the first place so that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Thank you, that would be so helpful.”

“Your safety is our utmost priority.” Aramis pauses. “Forgive me, I get the impression that you want to handle this discreetly, but I really should notify Treville about the Cardinal’s little visit.”

“Yes, of course,” Anne nods. “Treville should be made aware, but I would prefer to handle this quietly for now, until we figure out exactly what the Cardinal is up to. Something is off.” Anne shakes her head. “You say that he’s banned from the Garrison, but he showed up just to speak with me? Either he wants to be caught, or he thinks he’s above any kind of law.”

“He definitely thinks he’s above it all.”

“In that case,” Anne smiles, “we will have to prove him wrong. I’m going to accompany Louis to one of their meetings tomorrow to try and get a better read on things. I’ll let you know if I find out anything relevant.”

“Likewise, I’ll let you know if the security tapes turn up anything. And I’m sure Treville will want to speak with you himself to make sure that everything is alright.”

“That would be very kind of Treville.” Anne is quiet and still for a moment, as she surveys Aramis. He feels spellbound by her, wanting to ask her every question he can think of to get to know her, but not wanting to break the fragile silence. She clears her throat. “So, I’ll speak with you soon, Aramis?”

That’s his cue then, and Aramis bows his head before starting to back away. He doesn’t want to turn around, doesn’t want to leave her. But the alternative is making a fool out of himself by tripping over furniture, so he turns and departs for the elevator, keeping his dignity mostly in tact.

Down in the lobby, Aramis snaps into business mode. Porthos is still covering for him at the front desk. As he approaches, Porthos grins like he’s ready to pick up their teasing from earlier, but Aramis cuts him off.

“I’m calling a meeting. Tonight, Treville’s office, as soon as our shift ends. Can you let Athos know? And d’Artagnan should come too.”

Porthos eyes him. “You think?”

“D’Artagnan didn’t quit in the middle of one of his pain-in-the-ass assigned overnight shifts, he’s committed to this place. So, yes, I think we’ll need him.”

“Shit, you’re really serious?”

“For once, I’m completely serious.”

“Something big must be going on with the Queen,” Porthos guesses. “What’s wrong? Is she in trouble?”

Aramis consciously lowers his voice before saying, “I think the hotel itself is in trouble.”

“I’ll let Athos know right now,” Porthos says, his tone crisp and business-like, but his eyes are wide. “See you in a few hours... If the hotel is still standing.”

“Maybe you’ll have accidentally burned it down by then.”

“Come on, man,” Porthos shakes his head. “We’ve all seen your matchbox bowling game. Accidentally burning down a building falls under your area of expertise.”

“Touché,” Aramis admits with a grin.

Porthos claps him on the back, and then makes his way outside. Aramis can see through the glass doors, watches as Porthos approaches Athos and then d’Artagnan, subtly letting them know.

Athos takes a second to look through the glass at Aramis. He gives an imperceptible nod, something that’s just for Aramis to see, and then goes back to work. Aramis lets out a long breath, and smiles at a guest. Now that everyone is in the loop, he’s feeling a little bit better about the Garrison’s chances against the Cardinal.

+

Louis’ next appointment with the Cardinal turns out to be a property viewing down in Tribeca.

“Of course you should join us!” Louis exclaims when Anne asks to accompany him. “I meant to ask you along anyway. You have an eye for detail that we both know I lack.” Louis rolls his eyes at himself in a somewhat rare display of self-awareness.

Anne reaches for Louis. She fidgets with his shirt collar for a moment, doesn’t think the dry-cleaning service they’re currently using here is quite up to scratch. She lets her hand linger around his neck, and then come to rest on his shoulder.

“I’ll be glad to go with you tomorrow,” is all she says.

Louis gives her a soft smile before they lapse into silence, caught up in their own thoughts. It was only a small comment from Louis, but Anne wonders what could have him questioning himself like this. She wonders if maybe the Cardinal is making Louis doubt himself.

 

The next day it’s pouring rain, and Anne is grateful for Pierre chauffeuring both her and Louis through traffic down to lower Manhattan. Anne’s knowledge of Tribeca is hazy. She gathers that it’s a formerly industrial but newly trendy neighborhood, and guesses the space they’re about to view will be along the lines of a converted warehouse or something similar.

She is confused, then, when the car stops in front of a white brick building that wouldn’t look out of place on the Upper East Side.

“Is this it?” She asks. But her question is answered just then as the front door of the building opens, and a figure in a dark coat and red scarf makes his way over to the car. “Cardinal,” Anne says, stepping out of the car and baring her teeth in an aggressive smile. “How good to see you again.”

“And you, Madame,” the Cardinal returns.

He holds an umbrella out for her. She notes that it’s emblazoned with his red Cardinal North Realty logo, and she grudgingly takes the umbrella from him, hating to accept any favor from him. Fortunately Louis gets out of the car then and is right behind Anne. The two of them take up space together, boxing the Cardinal out from under the umbrella, his scarf quickly turning slick with rain.

The Cardinal ushers them into the front vestibule of the building where they all stomp their feet and try to shake the rain off their coats.

“Right,” Louis begins, after they’re all mostly dry. “Let’s get this bit of unpleasant business out of the way first. Armand, you mustn’t pay unexpected visits to my wife anymore. You gave her quite a shock the other day. It’s not becoming behavior for a business partner. ”

The Cardinal turns from Louis to Anne and gives an obsequious bow. Anne barely refrains from rolling her eyes.

“My apologies to you both,” he says. “I merely wanted to introduce myself, and I did not think Madame was in the habit of joining in on these business appointments.” He says this last bit with a raised eyebrow as though he’s mocking her, and Anne feels her cheeks flush.

“I’m in the habit of doing as I please, Cardinal, and today it pleases me to accompany my husband.” She returns with a tight-lipped smile. She reaches over to pinch at Louis’ hand and he gives a little jump.

“Right!” he cries. “Let’s take a look around…”

Anne becomes more annoyed as they tour the building, not because the building isn’t nice—it’s very nice. That’s the problem. The Cardinal, as it turns out, is irritatingly good at his job.

“This property was built after the Civil War,” he explains. “It’s done in a sort of Victorian Renaissance style. You can find similar buildings scattered around the Tribeca area. However,” he adds with a proud little smirk, “this one is the most recently renovated.”

“This property isn’t at all what I expected considering the neighborhood, but it is rather nice,” Anne admits.

Louis gives a little laugh. “I suppose a neighborhood needs more than shiny, trendy loft spaces in order to really function.”

“Yes, exactly,” the Cardinal agrees giving Louis a sharp look. “I’m trying to be very careful with the brief for you two,” he continues in a slow, measured tone. “You of course want something up-to-date, but not nouveau. And there are no children,” here he looks at Anne. “So we’re not looking for a family-friendly space.” The Cardinal gives a strange, mirthless laugh. “Yes, it’s quite a project, pinpointing something to suit you.”

Anne moves so that she and Louis are standing side-by-side. Louis takes her hand so that they’re facing the Cardinal as a unit.

“That’s right, there are no children,” she affirms, and she’s glad that her voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t betray her. “But that doesn’t mean we’re discounting family. Louis and I are looking for a space where we can be a family together, just the two of us.”

“Ma chère!” Louis exclaims. “What a charming way of putting it.”

“Yes, charming,” the Cardinal seems to agree, but Anne can’t help but feel that he’s sneering at her.

“I know what I want,” Louis says, “but I have to see it first. Anne is better with descriptions and words.”

“You do well for yourself,” Anne encourages Louis in a low voice, just for him, not for the Cardinal.

But Louis merely smiles blithely back at her. She wonders now if his self-awareness only stretches so far, and she turns instinctively back toward the Cardinal to observe him. She’s certain by now that he’s manipulating them into something. He’s too good at his job not to know exactly the kind of property that would suit the two of them. He should have it picked out before Anne even has the chance to describe it, before Louis lays eyes on it. So why is he dragging them around Tribeca?

“This building has been a revelation, Cardinal,” Anne begins in her best flattering tone of voice. “Thank you for showing it to us. However, I’m having some reservations about the neighborhood. Tribeca is fun for an evening, you know. But I can’t imagine feeling settled here.”

“Right,” the Cardinal nods and begins tapping away on an iPad. “Different neighborhood, similar architecture,” he mutters to himself.

“I’m hungry,” Louis announces just then.

“Sure,” the Cardinal says. “Let me think of some other properties and—”

“No,” Louis cuts him off. His French accent grows thicker as he speaks, which means he’s really getting tired of this. “Anne and I are going to lunch. Have your assistant email over a list of possibilities, and we’ll decide on something.”

“That sounds perfect,” the Cardinal tries to recover himself, but he still looks a little bit thrown by Louis’ change of temperament.

Anne allows herself a little smirk. Perhaps the Cardinal doesn’t know Louis as well as he thinks he does.

 

Louis has an appointment to be fitted for some new bespoke suits that afternoon, so he and Pierre drop Anne back at the Garrison after lunch.

D’Artagnan opens the door for her with a little wink and, as she walks into the lobby, she realizes she’s been expected. Treville himself walks out from behind the front desk to greet her. He steers her off toward the entrance of Bonacieux’s restaurant so that they’re not in the way of anyone, but Anne notices Aramis following Treville, a bright smile on his face, eager to speak with her.

Anne turns her attention to Treville for the moment. Louis had spoken to him upon checking-in, but Anne has not until now. Treville’s face has a familiar Gallic appearance, with features that are both delicate and sharp. His tone of voice is commanding but avuncular, and Anne can see why Louis likes him.

“I sincerely apologize that you were cornered by that awful man,” Treville is saying. “I feel responsible, and I hope you’ll feel safer knowing that we’ve just finished installing a new security system.”

“That makes me feel much better,” Anne tells him with a gracious smile. “And you shouldn’t worry yourself, you couldn’t have known that the Cardinal would sneak in like that.”

Treville shakes his head. “There’s no excuse. I should know what’s happening in my own hotel. Although,” Treville says as though talking to himself, “I suppose it’s not technically mine. Anyway, hence our new security system.” He turns now to look behind him where Aramis is hovering. “Aramis can tell you more about it. He and Athos were poring over the details this morning.”

Anne raises an eyebrow at Aramis as it dawns on her that he probably arranged with Treville to come and speak with her.

“Porthos installed the new cameras in the elevators himself,” Aramis announces with a tone of pride, and Porthos fistpumps from over by the front door.

Treville shakes Anne’s hand. “I’ll be in my office this afternoon if you think of any further questions or problems. And please know that you and your husband can come to me with concerns at any time.”

“Of course,” Anne gives him a nod. “Thank you for your solicitousness, Louis and I really appreciate it.”

Treville walks away, but Aramis stays. Anne motions for him to walk even further into the restaurant with her—empty at this time of day. Porthos seems to have overheard the conversation with Treville and Anne has the sense that she doesn’t want anyone to overhear them now. The two of them huddle together near a corner table. Constance is the only one nearby, but she remains behind the bar, tactfully not looking at them.

Anne looks at her feet for a moment, still in her wellies, only just now drying off from the rain. It’s strange, talking about Louis but looking at Aramis. She will have to talk about Louis with Aramis now. She looks up to meet his gaze. He’s watching her patiently. Even though he clearly has things to tell her, he’s not going to push.

“Louis and I met with him this morning,” Anne says. It’s better to say Louis’ name, better for both of them not to hide from it.

“And how was our Cardinal today? As pleasant as ever?”

“Oh yes,” Anne laughs. “An absolute ray of sunshine. You know, I realized, he’s actually rather good at his job.”

Aramis gives a little frown. “That’s a bit annoying.”

“That’s what I thought!” Anne cries. “But he’s definitely up to something. I got the impression that he’s trying to distract us, or to distract Louis, from something else that he’s doing. I don’t know what…”

Aramis nods. “Check your credit cards and bank information. If the Cardinal has access to any of that, even a business card, revoke it immediately.”

“That’s a good place to start, thank you.”

“We have plenty of people who come through here with sketchy identification or credit card info, it’s routine,” Aramis says like it’s business, and for him, it is. “That reminds me,” he says, taking a step closer to Anne. She could easily reach out and touch him if she wanted to. She tightens her grip around her handbag instead. “We’ve obviously uninstalled the old security equipment, but we still have the camera footage. I’m not very good with technology, but d’Artagnan is. He’s going to take it all home and comb through the footage looking for suspicious people or patterns, and hopefully figure out how the Cardinal might have escaped our notice.”

“Please tell d’Artagnan I appreciate his help,” Anne says, a bit overwhelmed by everyone’s concern, and by Aramis standing so close. She concentrates for a moment, trying to not to lose focus. “The Cardinal doesn’t exactly help his case, does he? He’s always wearing that scarf. He’s easy to pick out in a crowd.”

“He should be easy to find himself,” Aramis says with a nod. And Anne doesn’t think she’s mistaken, his gaze slips down to her mouth. “We wonder if he had help though, lookouts or something.”

“Of course,” Anne says, her voice coming out hoarse. “That seems likely.” She clears her throat. “Thank you again for all of your help. I sound like a broken record saying it, but I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s our job.” Aramis says simply. “It’s my job,” he emphasizes.

Maybe it’s the fact that he didn’t hesitate before affirming that it’s his job. Maybe it’s the fact that, job or not, he never hesitates to take care of her. Whatever the reason, Anne leans forward and kisses Aramis on the mouth. It’s light and fleeting, but it’s unmistakably a kiss.

She pulls back with a smile. “We’ll speak again soon, Aramis.”

She leaves the restaurant and walks to the elevator, still smiling to herself. It’s absolutely his job to attend to the guests and to see to the security of the hotel. It’s not his job to stand in a corner of an empty restaurant, nearly forehead to forehead with a guest, speaking in low voices, and yet he had done that, too. In fact he had sought her out.

It’s suddenly perfectly clear to Anne: if Aramis can attend to what is his job and what’s not his job, she can do the same in her own way. She can be married to Louis and also kiss Aramis.

The elevator doors close, leaving her gloriously alone in the small space as the elevator whisks her to the top of the building. She can still feel the phantom touch of Aramis’ lips against her own. She presses two fingers against her mouth, pulling her lower lip down slightly. She lets out a little laugh to herself. Aramis had tasted like black coffee.

+

Aramis reels back, knocking hard against the wall. He would be embarrassed, except it doesn’t matter. Anne is already walking away, not looking back at him. He sees Constance giggling at him from behind the bar and he stumbles in her direction, clutching his head.

His lips feel hot, as though seared. Anne’s touch had been feather-light, but there had been a firmness about it, a solid certainty in her decision, and that more than anything is setting Aramis’ head spinning. She had wanted to kiss him, and so she had done it, just like that. It’s the simplest thing in the world, and terribly complicated.

Constance sets a glass and a bottle of whiskey on the bar counter and raises a questioning eyebrow at him. He gives a nod in answer because his mind is already in such a state, the alcohol can’t make it much worse.

Constance pours a small amount for herself too, and then they toast to each other.

“Please don’t tell,” Aramis says when he can find his voice. It’s the only thing he can think to say.

Constance gives him a sympathetic smile. “Darling, I don’t have to, it’s written all over your face.”

“Shit,” Aramis curses, burying his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry,” Constance laughs. “Drink up, and then everyone will just think you’re a drunken delinquent, like usual.”

Aramis pulls a face at her but decides that, on the whole, she’s right.

Constance hands him a glass of water to accompany the whiskey, and starts giggling again. “The Queen _likes_ you,” she sing-songs.

Aramis frowns. “It doesn’t matter,” he says in a flat voice. “We can’t. We’re not—”

Constance stops laughing and looks at him with a keen eye. “I’ve never known you to have any scruples about sleeping with married women before.”

As if on cue, Louis returns to the hotel just then. He strides through the lobby, announcing to everyone that the rain has finally stopped. He’s clearly in a good mood and jovial with everyone, but, as hotel staff, they all know that Louis operates on a different societal level from the rest of them, and that they are there to attend to Louis’ needs. Aramis (and everyone else) tries not to wonder what might it be like to work for Louis if he were in a bad mood.

Aramis gives a little shudder. “Yes, well…” he nods his head to the lobby where Louis is waiting for the elevator.

“Afraid of him, are you?” Constance can’t help teasing.

“I’m not afraid of him!”

“Think he’ll stamp you out of existence with all his money and his power?”

“Well,” Aramis shrugs. “Something like that,” he finishes lamely, and downs the rest of his whiskey. He takes a deep breath. “There’s someone else with money and power that we need to be wary of right now, too.”

Constance nods. “The Cardinal, I know. D’Artagnan was telling me about it.”

“D’Artagnan?” Aramis asks, and now it’s his turn to chuckle at Constance, as her cheeks flush. “I see I’m not the only one in need of a little liquid courage here,” Aramis comments, giving his whiskey glass a little shake with a meaningful look at her.

Constance smacks him, but she’s grinning.

“Anyway,” she recovers herself. “I’m trying to think of the best advice to give you. I won’t tell you not to be reckless, because you are reckless. All of you are.”

Aramis gives a snort but doesn’t argue.

Constance taps her fingernails against the bar counter and surveys him. “No, your problem here might be that you’re too careful.”

“I have to be!” Aramis hisses. “The Cardinal is swooping around, planning God knows what. I can’t get Anne into trouble.”

Constance nods. “I understand that. But, remember, she really likes you. She just put herself at risk to show you that. So, be careful of her, too. Be careful about the way you let her down, if that’s what you think is best. Don’t ignore her just because you’re afraid of two ridiculous men.”

Aramis’ jaw falls open. “I said I wasn’t afraid!” he protests because he doesn’t know how else to respond.

Constance rolls her eyes. “Get out of my restaurant!” She clears the empty glasses from the bar and shoos him away. “It’s almost happy hour. People will want to enjoy their drinks in peace without you hanging all over the place.”

Aramis does as he’s told. But, before he leaves, he takes Constance’s hand for a moment and gives a little squeeze in thanks. The friendly nod she gives him in return is the boost he needs to return to his post at the front desk and finish out his shift.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Athos hisses, smacking him on the back.

Aramis just gives him a shrug and a wink in response, letting him draw his own conclusions. Athos apparently assumes the worst, as he rolls his eyes and glares.

Aramis ignores the continued glaring and gets on with his work, speaking with the guests in the lobby, but mentally tuning them out. Constance’s whiskey is wearing off, but her words ring strong in his mind. _Be careful of her, too_. As if he were capable of being anything but careful with Anne, Aramis thinks wryly to himself.

He does wonder if Anne is being careful though. She kissed him in public, after all. They were only seen by Constance, and while she won’t tell, it was still in public. That’s what’s getting under Aramis’ skin more than anything, the shocking indiscretion of it.

So, it isn’t the chaste kiss that’s burning Aramis’ lips, not really. It’s the fact that Anne surprised him, and the fact that he likes it. The shock of it all is streaming down his throat, and starting a simmering burn in the pit of his stomach that Aramis knows has nothing to do with whiskey.

He mentally goes over his recent interactions with Anne. She had invited him up to her suite, and had worn her hair down and loose in front of him. Today her hair was pulled back, but she had kissed him. It’s a puzzle. Constance’s warning had really amounted to balance things out, to reconcile his need to be careful and his desire for Anne, but Aramis can’t reconcile any of it.

He had told Constance the truth, he’s not afraid of Louis. He’s afraid of himself, of what he might do. Because Anne has only kissed him once, and he had barely even had the chance to kiss her back. But Athos is already glaring at him, and Aramis can’t help feeling that there’s a lot more glaring to be done before this is all over.

+

Anne spends much of the next week by herself. She has work to do, vetoing or approving properties for Louis to view. This mainly involves sorting through endless emails from the Cardinal’s assistant, who seems to only go by a last name, something odd like, L’Hiver.

Anne finds it soothing to sit back and imagine all the different types of houses and lifestyles to go along with the property of the day. If there are certain lifestyles she imagines that don’t include her husband—that include someone else instead—well, Anne can keep her own secret.

She’s currently in the master bedroom flicking through emails on her iPad, but she can still hear the buzzing noise throughout the suite that indicates someone is arriving on the elevator. She isn’t expecting Louis back yet, or any visitors, for that matter. Nevertheless, she pulls her hair back and smooths down the front of her dress, wondering if it’s housekeeping, or perhaps Treville stopping by with news about the Cardinal.

Anne’s guest turns out to be someone she’s been thinking about all week, but not someone she’s been expecting: it’s Aramis. He stands in the entryway, leaning back on his heels, as though he might back away and make a break for it at any second. But the most striking thing about him at the moment is that he’s not wearing his hotel uniform. He looks comfortable in jeans and a loose cable-knit sweater.

“Oh!” Anne exclaims. “Are you off today?”

“What?” he asks distractedly. “No, but my shift just ended. I came right up here. I probably shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have come up without calling ahead.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Anne says, automatically slipping into her best polite hostess mode. “Please come in. Is everything alright? I mean with Treville and the hotel.”

“Oh,” Aramis wavers on the spot for a moment. “Yes, everything with the hotel is fine, as far as I know. Unfortunately I don’t have news for you about the Cardinal.” He looks sheepish. “That isn’t why I’m here.”

There is a silence, and everything in the suite seems to settle around the two of them as they eye each other up.

“Louis is out,” Anne says, figuring it’s better to say it than to let the question hang in the air. “I don’t expect him back for another hour or so.”

Aramis visibly lets out a deep breath at this, but he still seems skittish, ready to bolt. Anne wouldn’t have expected nervousness from him. She takes a step closer to him, wanting to touch, to soothe, but unsure if that would set him off even more.

“Please come in,” she repeats gently. “The entryway isn’t the most comfortable of places. Not that it isn’t still impeccably styled, of course,” she adds, with a little grin.

Aramis grins back, one corner of his mouth perking up, and she can feel the two of them easing into the situation, easing into each other, now that they’ve smiled.

“I’ll make a suggestion at the next staff meeting,” Aramis declares, walking into the living room. “Redo the penthouse entryway to make it more comfortable.”

“I wonder if the others will support your suggestion...” Anne laughs at the idea of Aramis, Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan trying to come to a coherent decision about decor. Aramis laughs too, apparently sharing the same vision. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Anne asks, finding it difficult to slip out of hostess mode, unsure how else to behave with him right now.

“No, thank you,” Aramis shakes his head. “I shouldn’t stay long. You’re being so hospitable though. It’s a little overwhelming,” he admits, with a smile that’s almost in awe of her.

Anne shrugs. “You’ve all taken care of me, I’m just returning the favor.” She makes a point to lock eyes with him then. “You, especially, Aramis. You’ve taken care of me.”

There is a shift in Aramis’ demeanor then. They hold each other’s gaze, not saying anything, but Anne can feel that he’s a more solid presence in the room now. He’s here, in front of her, and he’s willing to stay. She steps towards him again, and Aramis seems to come to an internal decision. Still looking at her, he sets his jaw and strides up to her. Aramis cups her face with both hands and kisses her.

Anne can’t help falling into him then, finally able to touch, the knit of his sweater soft under her fingertips. The kiss, however, is not soft or chaste this time. There is a firmness and an urgency from both of them, as they’ve mutually agreed there is nothing else they’d rather be doing. Aramis’ stubble is rough against her lips and her face, and Anne thinks somewhere in the back of her mind, that she’ll have to cover up the brush burn marks later with makeup, but for now, she lives in it. Every touch from him is a new sensation to her and she needs to feel it to its full extent.

Finally, they break apart. Their faces are flushed, and they both look slightly ridiculous but aren’t in the mood to care. Anne grins a little shyly, but she doesn’t pull away from him, keeping her arms wrapped around his neck.

“And here I was just on the verge of apologizing for kissing you last week,” she teases.

“As far as apologies go, that was terrible,” Aramis laughs. “But as for second kisses, it wasn’t bad.”

“Oh, is that all?” Anne raises her foot to kick him lightly in the shin. “I’ll show you not bad.”

Aramis throws his head back in laughter, and she nuzzles into his neck. He smells like faded aftershave, that familiar smell of masculine intimacy. But there is a scent beneath that ubiquitous Old Spice aftershave, and it is specific to him. Aramis smells pleasantly comfortable and lived-in, but there is also an edge, like metal. It puts Anne in mind of strange old things like gunpowder and well-worn leather saddles. She pulls back enough to get a good look at his face, trying to decode him.

As though he can read her thoughts, Aramis opens up a little bit. “Actually,” he looks embarrassed. “I should tell you, I came up here intending to say that, while I very much enjoyed our first kiss, I wouldn’t be able to kiss you anymore. I spoke with Constance and she told me to let you down easy.” Aramis smiles here. “But I think we all know by now, there’s no letting you down.”

“I thought you seemed anxious when you showed up.” Anne runs a hand soothingly across his shoulder. “That’s why I asked about Treville right away.”

“I am anxious,” Aramis admits, leaning into her touch. “Everything between Treville and the Cardinal seems so unreal. And you’re caught up in it, too. There aren’t many things that make me nervous, but I can’t wrap my head around this one.”

“You’re right to be worried,” Anne responds in a serious tone. “I’m nervous, too. But,” she gives a casual little shrug. “At least we have this.” She gives Aramis’ shoulder a squeeze. “And this is… What was your eloquent phrase? Not bad.”

“Mmm,” Aramis nods. “You know, its funny, I’m usually the one to go for in for a kiss first.”

“Not this time,” is all Anne says.

“No, this time is different.” Aramis gives a little smile like he’s glad of it.

+

Technically, it’s his day off, but Aramis finds himself at the hotel, standing in the middle of the penthouse living room, Anne staring at him from across the coffee table. Yesterday afternoon, Anne had signaled to Aramis that Louis would be gone on a day-trip to Philadelphia, and that she might need his help up in the suite around one pm.

Right now, she’s mentally undressing him, Aramis can tell, although maybe she doesn’t know that he can tell.

Or maybe she does, because she lets out a little laugh to herself, and then crosses the room to him.

“This shirt,” she begins, pulling at his collar. Then really looks at it. “Actually it’s quite nice.”

“I’m offended by the tone of surprise,” Aramis returns, with mock outrage.

In fact, he’s a little bit flattered, as he had taken special pains to iron the shirt this morning. It’s a funny thing, he thinks to himself, doing your best to get all dressed up to see someone when what you’re really hoping for is to be undressed with them.

“Don’t forget,” Anne reminds him. “I usually see you in your uniform.”

“Ah, you like a man in uniform.”

“Who doesn’t? But right now, all these clothes are a little cumbersome, don’t you think? We’ll be better once this shirt is off.”

Aramis makes to unbutton his shirt, but Anne waves him off. She undoes each button carefully all the way down his torso, biting her lip, and then slides his arms out of the sleeves.

She giggles a little bit at the white undershirt he’s wearing.

“What?” he huffs. “It’s almost December now, it’s cold.”

“Good thing for you we have a working fireplace up here,” Anne says, her fingers skirting around the hem of his undershirt, just barely brushing against the skin of his chest, as she lifts the shirt over his head.

“Exposed brick and everything. It’s a very sought-after feature,” Aramis babbles because he’s now shirtless and Anne is staring at him.

He’s been far more naked that this (and in much more compromising positions, too) but Anne seems to have the innate ability to make him feel vulnerable in the most terrifying way, in a way that leaves all of his emotions exposed.

Anne gives a pull at his belt buckle, raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously talking about features of the hotel right now?”

“I’m afraid so. I talk about the hotel in my sleep.”

She’s unzipping his jeans now, crouching down to pull them all the way off, and Aramis gives thanks that he’s able to step out of each pant leg without losing his balance and falling on his ass.

“Do you really talk in your sleep?” She asks with a curious look, standing back up.

“I’ve been told that I do,” Aramis nods, unsure what to do with his hands.

He’s down to just his underwear now: a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs. He thinks he’s chosen well, but Anne continues to stare. She’s still fully dressed, her hair pulled back impeccably, as usual. Aramis both wants to mess up that perfection, and protect it. He’s rather come to like the image that she projects: the perfectly unwrinkled dresses, always a pair of patent leather high heels.

The more tantalizing question is what Anne herself might do next. She begins walking around him in a slow circle, and her high heels clacking against the floor make the only noise in the room. Aramis holds his breath, and he can feel a delicious tension starting to coil in the pit of his stomach.

Anne makes a full circle, and stops right in front of him, tilting her head as she looks at him. It hits Aramis then, she’s waiting for him. She’s undressed him, but they’re in this together. It’s his turn now to make some signal.

“Madame,” he clears his throat trying to keep his voice steady. “Is there anything I can assist you with?” he asks in a kind of replay of their first meeting here in the suite.

The grin she gives him is both warm and a touch devilish. “As a matter of fact, there is something that requires your attention quite urgently. If you could follow me to bedroom…” She turns on her heel, waiting for him.

“Certainly, Madame,” he answers, with a bow of his head. “Anything for you.”

He notes that she deliberately leads him to a side bedroom, not the master bedroom. He doesn’t question it, figures that it’s better this way. And besides, even the smaller bedrooms here are outfitted with king beds.

Aramis isn’t proud to admit it, but it’s a bit of an unsexy tangle at first, with Anne trying to take off her clothes both quickly and neatly, and Aramis flinging the myriad decorative pillows off the bed. Finally, the two of them settle into the bed and into each other’s arms, where, instead of being romantic or sexy, they both find themselves laughing.

Aramis buries his face in Anne’s neck to try and stifle his laughter. He’s not used to this in bed: both being nervous and having fun all at once. He leans further in, and can smell her shampoo. It’s something brightly citrus, and he thinks it’s an appropriately sparkling scent for her.

He has a moment of regretting that he didn’t get to undress her as well, but they’re together now, and there is all the time in the world (or at least the rest of the afternoon) to explore. He starts by kissing her neck while trailing his fingers downwards. Judging by her reaction, this is very welcome, so he moves his mouth down further, too. He spends some time getting acquainted with her breasts, trying to pay equal attention to both. Then there’s the jut of her hipbone, skin stretching taught across it, and the softer skin of her belly. Aramis traces over a patch of skin that’s slightly ridged just below her belly button, living for all the different sensations the expanse of her body offers.

But there is something that makes Aramis pause. It’s not that they aren’t enjoying this, but Anne is tense for some reason. He can feel it in her torso, in her stomach muscles, and it’s different than the delicious ache of anticipatory tension burning in Aramis’ stomach. She’s carrying a tension with her. There is something she can’t let go of.

It’s understandable, considering the situation. Her husband is away for the day, but his things are in a room across the hall, a room that they share. But Aramis has slept with his share of married women before, and the tension has never been quite like this. So, he pauses.

“Please,” Anne insists, propping herself up on her elbows. “Keep going.”

Aramis can’t gauge how careful he should be with her, or if maybe she doesn’t want him to be careful at all. He looks into her eyes and there is a seriousness there that he can’t quite read.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he assures her, because he means it and because he isn’t sure what else to communicate to her right now. “Tell me what you want.”

Anne takes a deep breath and then nods, like she knows he’s trying to communicate with her, and she’s trying to respond. She closes her eyes for a second, and then opens them to look directly at him.

“I want you to keep going.”

He holds her gaze, waits a beat. “Alright then.”

So, Aramis gets to work. He uses both his fingers and his mouth all along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, on the nib of her clit, and in the warm wetness inside her to try and coax her into letting go. When she finally does, she’s louder than he expected and, frankly, he loves it. He loves hearing her voice, loves the heat of her body, the taste of her, all around him.

He can’t help wondering if she ever lets go like this with her husband. Would Louis even think to go down on a woman? Has he ever done this for Anne? It’s a bit wicked of him to think these things, Aramis knows, so he concentrates on Anne instead.

She’s lying back with her eyes closed, her head sunk down into the bed pillows. Her hair, finally, is a wild mess around her. He watches the rise and fall of her chest as she comes back to herself, gradually remembering how to breathe.

Somehow, the most attractive thing to Aramis in all of this is the fact that he’s now seen her both in this intimate, private way and in her put-together look for going out in public. Just the thought of it has him afraid that he’ll be coming like a teenager, still wearing his briefs, and rutting inelegantly against her leg.

Luckily for both of them, Anne opens her eyes. She doesn’t even have to say anything, she nods and shifts her hips, guiding him toward her with her body. She runs her hands down his back, and he notices that she takes her time, getting a feel for the muscles there. She stops at the waistband of his briefs, gives a little snap, and then pulls them down (she takes her time there, too). Aramis laughs again, and then shakes himself the rest of the way out of his briefs, wondering why he’d even bothered to get dressed this morning.

Then he doesn’t have time to wonder or to think much at all. It’s probably for the best, his thoughts would be incomprehensible and embarrassingly cheesy. Anne is everything to him, the whole world, in this moment. As he thrusts, he leans down to brush his nose along her cheekbone, and kisses her. They kiss until they can’t really kiss anymore, until they’re gasping against each other’s mouths, until finally Aramis collapses on top of her, settling his head once more in the crook of her neck.

 

Later, they’re lying next to each other in a comfortable silence, Anne absent-mindedly running a hand through Aramis’ hair. To his surprise, she’s the one to break the silence.

“I was pregnant once,” she says in a simple tone, as though discussing the weather.

Aramis sits up, the sheets pooling around his thighs. This doesn’t exactly sound like a typical post-sex discussion. “Were you?”

“It was about eight years ago by now. Louis was so excited. We both were.”

“What happened?” Aramis asks, trying to keep his tone casual.

Anne blinks. She seems very far away to Aramis, off somewhere reliving the experience.

“There were complications. I lost the baby,” she explains in her matter-of-fact tone. “I became quite ill myself. I don’t remember much of what happened, I was fairly out of it. I remember Louis’ voice. I would hear him talking with the doctors out in the corridor. He was always so angry and worried. In the end, I had a hysterectomy. Everyone thought it was best.”

Aramis lets out a gasp before he can stop himself, and he tries to turn it into a cough.

Anne looks at him then, and he feels like she’s back in the room with him again. “I thought you might have noticed the scar,” she says, moving her hand across her stomach.

Aramis leans over top of her, looking, and he could kick himself for not having realized earlier that the area below her belly button is actually scar tissue.

She sits up now too, her hair falling loosely down her back. She speaks more softly, emotion creeping into her voice. “When Louis and I have sex, well, it’s complicated. This thing that happened… it’s between the two of us. And it’s still emotional, even after all this time.”

Aramis nods in understanding.

“On the other hand, I didn’t know what sex with you would be like,” she admits. “I was nervous for a few reasons…” she trails off, running one finger down his bicep, stopping at the crook of his elbow. Aramis gives her a gentle smile. “But,” she continues. “Next time, I’ll know there’s no reason to feel that way.”

Aramis takes a deep breath. He hasn’t spoken yet, doesn’t know what he could possibly say that would match the gravity of what she’s just confided in him. So he doesn’t even try. “Next time, eh?” He jokes, with a grin. “I never want to presume.”

“Please, you always presume everything!” Anne cries with laughter, swatting at him. “Where are all those tiny pillows when I want to throw them at your head? I see now, that’s why you threw them off the bed.”

Aramis taps the side of his head. “That’s me, always thinking. Foreseeing possibilities and outcomes.”

“Oh, spare me!”

Anne pushes him over, and they fall back on the bed together. Aramis curls up next to her. Even though she’s still naked, he notices that she’s wearing her usual jewelry. Gold pendants hang from her ears, glittering, but small and appropriate for daywear. She’s always dressed up, and she’s always appropriate, and Aramis understands why now: it’s her armor.

He places one hand on her belly, and leaves it resting lightly there. Anne doesn’t say anything, but he feels her sharp intake of breath and then a slow exhale as she relaxes into his touch.

They remain like that, just breathing together, for the rest of the afternoon.

+

Anne exits through the glass doors of the hotel’s salon, and runs right into Aramis. It’s not an accident, although they play it off casually.

“I trust your day is going well, Madame” he greets her formally.

“It is, thank you. I just booked a hair appointment for tomorrow night. Condé Nast is throwing that fundraiser at the Waldorf. I have to look stylish.”

“The ballrooms at the Waldorf are very small,” Aramis sniffs.

Anne laughs. “Is that the best you can come up with? Surely you can do better than that.”

“Don’t get me started,” Aramis huffs. “The Waldorf, the Carlyle, they’re all the same. They’re just so snobby!” he bursts out.

Anne had only meant to tease but she realizes she may have hit on a real sore spot. “Well,” she tries to smooth it over. “What if I were to mention to, say, Anna Wintour, that we’re staying here? And that the service is _very_ friendly.” She waggles her eyebrows, and Aramis bites his lip.

He moves so that they’re walking side-by-side down the hallway, and lets his hand brush the small of her back for a second.

“I wasn’t aware that you wanted to be _friends_ ,” he teases in a whisper.

“Aramis, mon ami, of course we’re friends. Very intimate friends.”

Aramis stops walking, looks both directions in the hallway, then takes Anne by the hand and pulls her into a closet off to the side.

The space turns out to be a small housekeeping office, with endless stacks of white linen towering all around them. Aramis closes the door and Anne leans back against a shelf piled high with bath towels. The fluorescent overhead lighting doesn’t exactly add to the romantic mood. But then, maybe Aramis doesn’t have romance on his mind. He’s staring at her, a thoughtful look in his eye.

“Your English is so impeccable,” he says. “I often forget that you’re French.”

“Actually, I was born in Spain. Spanish is my native language. I’ve been with Louis for so long now that sometimes I forget, too.”

“Aren’t you full of revelations?” Aramis gently teases. But as he looks at her, Anne senses that it’s with a little bit of awe.

She doesn’t mean to keep secrets, and she doesn’t necessarily mean to tell Aramis everything either. But there is something about him that compels her to speak, to reveal herself emotionally. It’s the way he listens to her: with an ease as though they’ve been confiding in each other for many years, but never so easy that he brushes her off. Speaking about private things doesn’t always feel natural to Anne, but it somehow works with Aramis.

“I grew up in Spain,” she says.

Sunny days flash in her mind’s eye (childhood always appears to be sunny in hindsight), the patter of footsteps and the sound of younger brothers and sisters laughing, echoing in her head.

“Mother was always busy, the wife of a diplomat.” Anne gives a wry smile. “I’m well-acquainted with the lifestyle myself by now. But she handled it smoothly, probably better than I do. She always made time to read to us once a week before bed. My Spanish is hazy now, but I do remember the stories.”

“You should tell me sometime. I’d love to hear those stories.”

Anne is quiet for a moment. “My mother died when I was a teenager.” She finds that it isn’t difficult to say, not in English, at least. It’s merely stating a fact.

Aramis absorbs this news quietly, like he understands innately why he won’t be hearing any Spanish bedtime stories, why it had been easier for her to let her mother tongue go. He wraps his arms around Anne’s waist, but doesn’t pull her too close, letting her have her own space. She’s so grateful for it, it almost sets her off, and she holds onto his biceps to keep herself steady.

“I was essentially betrothed to Louis, and I was actually glad to marry him. It was a change of scenery. But, you know Louis.” Anne gives a laugh. “He didn’t think I was learning French quickly enough. And he’s of royal descent and he’s not shy about letting people know it. The French have a complicated relationship with royalty, to say the least. We haven’t always made friends, and sometimes it’s better for us not to be there. I suppose that’s how we ended up here, of all places. New York. The Garrison.”

Aramis’ eyes open up with a realization. “I had wondered about you two. I asked myself, _what the hell is this posh European couple doing at our little hotel?_ But I see now.” He grins at her. “You’re outlaws.”

Anne bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but you might be right.”

“You’ve come to the perfect place. Everyone here has a bit of a history here, Athos, Porthos, d’Artagnan, and myself. But it doesn’t matter, the Garrison is open to everyone. Well, everyone except raving lunatics who go by the name of the Cardinal.”

Anne tilts her head, observing him. “You were serious, then. About the other hotels being snobby. It really bothers you.”

“Yes.” Aramis purses his lips together, looking at the floor. He seems embarrassed to be serious. “That’s what I like about you,” he says, looking back up at her.

“What, that I’m not a snob? Because you might be wrong about that.”

Aramis lifts one of his hands, plays with her hair. “I like that you always understand,” he says simply.

Anne leans her head into his touch for a moment. She had purposefully worn her hair half down because she knows he likes to play with it and, truthfully, she enjoys it, too.

Then, the non-romantic fluorescent lighting be damned, she pulls at the jacket of his uniform, going in for a kiss. They’ve learned this together: that he likes waiting for her to make the first move just as much as she enjoys going for it. Anne can’t help smiling against Aramis’ mouth even though it doesn’t make for the sexiest kiss, and she feels that he returns the smile.

 

Later, the two of them go to make their way out of the closet as subtly as possible. Aramis goes first, Anne following behind him. She’s preoccupied with smoothing her hair down, doesn’t notice that he’s stopped walking, and she bumps right into him.

“Oof, Aramis!” She cries, startled. “Is everything okay?”

To her surprise, there is another woman’s voice. “I’m so sorry, sir. That was my fault, excuse me.”

Anne peers around Aramis, but she doesn’t get a clear view of the other woman. She sees only a sweep of dark hair and what looks like a cape in a pale blue color. Then the woman disappears around the corner.

Aramis stays very still even after the woman is gone.

“Do you know her?” Anne asks.

“No,” Aramis says, narrowing his eyes. “And I can’t tell if that’s a problem or not.” Anne sets a steadying hand on his shoulder, and he heaves a sigh. “Athos has the security footage now and he’s taking his sweet time with it. He plays everything so close to the vest, I can’t tell if it’s because he’s actually onto something or if he’s just being overly-cautious.”

“Be patient with Athos,” Anne encourages him. “I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

“You’re right, but…” Aramis shakes his head. “Moments happen just like that one where I feel thrown-off, and it reminds me that if someone is planning something, they’re not going to wait until we’re ready. Anyway,” he looks at her a little sadly. “We shouldn’t be seen by anyone else leaving here together.”

Anne nods. “I’ll go to the elevators. I’ll go straight up to the suite, no one else will see me.”

“I’ll hang around here for a little while, so you know where I’ll be if you need anything.” Aramis does his best to say it cheerfully, but she knows he really means it.

“Merci, mon ami,” Anne says, as she leaves him.

+

The day begins normally enough. The holiday season is in full-swing, and Aramis spends the morning helping Constance and some of housekeeping decorate the lobby. Even Athos pitches in to help hang a wreath on the wall behind the front desk. By afternoon, the Garrison has a twinkling, merry appearance from the lights, holly, and a menorah, all placed stylishly around the lobby.

Athos, looking like he’s had his fill of holiday merriment, takes his lunch break. But Aramis is only left alone at the front desk for a few minutes before Porthos and d’Artagnan stop by to chat and tease him. Their current favorite activity is to try sticking post-it notes to Aramis’ uniform without him noticing.

“Shhh,” d’Artagnan soothes as Aramis tries to brush one off of his blazer right over his chest. “It’s a love note from Anne, you’ll want to keep it there.”

Aramis startles at the mention of Anne’s name. “Fuck off!” he hisses, ripping the post-it off his uniform.

“You’re miserable when you like someone, it’s not fun.” D’Artagnan scowls and throws the whole stack of post-its at Aramis.

Porthos stifles a laugh, and pats d’Artagnan on the back while giving Aramis a sympathetic look. “Everyone knows, man,” he says to Aramis. “Even Treville knows.”

“Everyone knows what?” Aramis asks through clenched teeth.

He hasn’t told Porthos or Athos (and certainly not d’Artagnan) about sleeping with Anne. He feels protective of her, naturally. But more than that, he also feels protective of their growing relationship. She has trusted him and confided in him, and it’s important to keep that private. But d’Artagnan is right: he is miserable, and it’s because lying to his friends is shit.

Porthos raises an eyebrow at him. “Everyone knows that you’re head-over-ass in love with a pretty guest.” Aramis hates himself for it, but he lets out a long, relieved breath. If Porthos doesn’t suspect anything, maybe he and Anne are safe.

“Everyone knows that you’re a moron,” d’Artagnan adds. And, for once, Aramis finds that he really can’t argue.

Porthos leans over the desk. “Be careful,” he intones. “Or Louis will know, too.”

And right then, everything starts happening at once.

The first thing that happens is that Athos returns from his break. They all notice that something is off right away. Athos looks even more pale than usual and he seems to be out of breath even though, as far as Aramis can tell, he wasn’t running anywhere.

“I’ve figured something out,” Athos gasps out to the three of them. “I know how the Cardinal has been getting access to the hotel. He has a spy.”

Athos has to lean against the desk for support.

“Whoa, there,” Porthos sets a steadying hand on Athos’ shoulder. “You’re not looking so hot, my friend. Do you need some water? Did you eat anything at lunch?”

Athos shakes his head. “There’s no time.”

Aramis tilts his head, locks eyes with him. “Athos, what’s wrong? What’s really wrong here?”

“The spy is a woman. She’s staying here at the hotel. I know her.”

“She’s here at the hotel?” D’Artagnan seizes on this piece of information. “Where is she? We have to find her!”

“No!” Athos holds up a hand. “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll find her. It has to be me. I know her,” he repeats.

Aramis exchanges a look with Porthos. Athos, as a rule, doesn’t make it his business to know very many people.

“How do you know her?” Aramis prods as gently as he can.

“We were married,” Athos says, his tone completely unreadable. “She was my wife.”

Then, suddenly, Athos is gone. He makes a break for the elevators, moving much more quickly than he would seem capable of, given his mental state.

“Jesus Christ!” Porthos lets out a low whistle. “I’ll go after him, yeah?”

“Shit,” Aramis grits out, and then nods at Porthos. “Yeah, you’d better go. He’s more likely to do damage to himself in this state than to catch the supposed spy.”

“He didn’t even tell us what she looks like,” d’Artagnan laments.

But Aramis remembers dark hair and red lips curling while giving a sneering apology, and he thinks he knows.

Porthos rushes over to the elevators, trying to catch Athos before he’s gone. Aramis glances around the lobby, scanning the room for anything that might be out of place. His eye catches at the front windows, where he sees a black sedan pulling up to the front of the building.

He reaches across the desk to smack d’Artagnan. “There’s no one at the front door and Louis is here! Get over there, quick!”

D’Artagnan makes a dash to the front door just in time to pull it open gracefully as Louis comes striding into the lobby. To Aramis’ surprise, he makes his way over to the front desk, practically bouncing on his heels and grinning ear-to-ear.

“Aramis!” He cries in a friendly tone. “Do you know where Treville is? I want to meet with him as soon as possible.”

“I believe Treville is out at a lunch meeting. We expect him back any moment now.” Louis gives a little impatient sigh at this news. “Forgive me, sir,” Aramis adds. “But is everything alright?”

“Everything is splendid,” Louis assures him. “Do you know where Anne is? Is she upstairs? I need to speak with her, too.”

Aramis feels like he might bite off his own tongue. “I’m not sure where your wife is, but we can try calling up to the suite.”

“Excellent, let’s try her.”

Aramis tries to keep his hands as steady as possible as he dials the penthouse on the front desk phone, and then passes the receiver over to Louis.

“Anne, ma chérie!” Louis cries a minute later when Anne picks up. “No, I haven’t been drinking. Listen, I’m downstairs in the lobby. I’ve had the most remarkable idea, and I need to speak with both you and Treville. Can you come down?”

There’s a pause during which Aramis busies himself typing nonsense on the keyboard, trying to look occupied and not like he’s eavesdropping. In reality, he’s holding his breath waiting for what Louis might say next.

“Everything is _fine_ ,” Louis emphasizes. “I’ve just been at lunch, and listen to this: I’ve decided that I’m going to buy the Garrison.”

+

The contract of sale is laid out on the dining room table. Anne feels that the fine black print seems to stare up at her rather smugly. She doesn’t usually concern herself with the details of Louis’ business affairs and, as she delves deeper into the thirty-page contract, she sees why: it’s confusing and tiresome.

But this isn’t just an ordinary business idea. She and Louis had come to New York with the idea of purchasing a home together. Taking over the rights of a hotel is something different. It’s a business acquisition, and perhaps the start of becoming a hotel magnate. Is that what Louis really wants? Is it what she wants for her life? Anne scans the page in front of her only to see that the fine print offers no answers.

Despite her unfamiliarity with this type of business, Anne can’t shake the feeling that something about the contract and the entire proceeding is off. Surely a transaction of this scale would require a whole team of legal and accounting personnel. But after Louis’ initial meeting with a (very shocked) Treville, he and Treville had then met with just one legal representative from the investment firm that currently owns the Garrison. That seems to have been it, except for some casual communication between Louis and the Cardinal. The fact that they haven’t yet gotten rid of the Cardinal once and for all makes Anne unconsciously clench her fists.

She pushes back the dining room chair, uncharacteristically not minding the loud scraping noise it makes against the hardwood floor. She’s getting nowhere sitting here all by herself, trying to puzzle out an impossible contract that Louis will likely sign anyway without even reading.

Anne knows this is probably an ill-advised idea. Still, she grabs a few shopping bags, and steps onto the elevator. She is careful to check her lipstick in the mirror, and then presses the button for the lobby.

Aramis is behind the front desk, as usual. He’s staring at Athos, a worried crease forming down his forehead. He catches sight of Anne, blinks, and then his expression opens up, worry melting away.

“Aramis,” she addresses him straight-on, not playing around. “Would you mind helping me with these bags?” She holds up her shopping bags. “I’m hoping to return a few things this afternoon.”

“Of course,” he says. He silently checks with Athos, who gives him a nod, and then walks out from behind the desk.

The two of them split the shopping bags between them, their fingers brushing lightly together. They walk outside, smiling at Porthos and d’Artagnan, but keeping a bit of distance from them.

“How are you?” Is the first thing Aramis asks. “Is everything alright?”

He moves his arm as though to touch her, but pulls back when he remembers they’re in public. Shopping bags from Bergdorf’s and Hermès sway in between the two of them, echoing the phantom touch.

“I’m sorry to worry you by coming downstairs without warning,” Anne apologizes. “It’s just that I’m worried about Louis’ deal to buy the Garrison. The contract seems off, the whole thing seems fishy. But I’m not good at this kind of thing, and I have no proof as to what exactly is wrong.”

Aramis nods. “First of all, trust your instinct. If it seems wrong to you, then it probably is. Maybe not necessarily legally, but something about it is wrong for you and Louis.” He moves in more closely now so that she can hear him over the city noise. “If you’re worried about the Cardinal, all of that might be finished since Athos caught out his spy at the hotel.”

“Yes, Treville said… How is Athos?”

Aramis shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s a good way to process the news that your ex-wife installed herself at your place of work to spy for the enemy.”

Anne lets out a laugh before covering her mouth. “It’s terrible of me to laugh, but it’s so horrible that it’s funny.”

Aramis chuckles along with her. “If only Athos could learn to laugh, too. We might be okay.”

There is a movement from around the side of the building, and a long shadow is cast over Anne and Aramis. The noise of the city fades, and all Anne can hear is a rushing in her ears as a black trench coat and red scarf come into view in front of her.

“What a fascinating sight this is,” the Cardinal declares, holding his hands out and gesturing to the two of them.

For the first time, Anne truly understands how he might have earned the Cardinal moniker. There is something immaculate about him, the way he holds himself so upright, supreme in confidence and power. Now, with his hands held out as though in prayer, his religious resemblance is uncanny. Although Anne can’t help but think that he would only be capable of bestowing maledictions, not blessings.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Madame,” the Cardinal addresses Anne, as obsequious as ever.

“I can’t say the same,” Anne bites back.

The Cardinal shakes his head. “Manners,” he chides her. “And you,” he turns to Aramis, a look of eager curiosity spreading over his face. “One of Treville’s lapdogs, of course.”

Aramis moves so that he’s standing almost in front of Anne, his legs wide in a defensive stance. “If that’s the title you want to give me, it’s accurate because you should know I’ll inform Treville immediately that you’re skulking around the premises. And we won’t hesitate to call the cops.”

The Cardinal waves a dismissive hand. “Do whatever you think you must. It won’t much matter.”

He turns his focus to Anne then, as though Aramis is irrelevant. “Madame de Bourbon, Anne, we’re adults here. What is this that you’re doing?” He gestures between Anne and Aramis. “Is it just a bit of fun? Or is it something more? You’ll want to clarify it for yourself, really get your story straight, because it might soon slip out to the public that the wife of Louis de Bourbon is having a rather tawdry affair with a front desk agent.” The Cardinal breaks off with a derisive laugh.

Aramis lunges at the Cardinal. Luckily, he’s still holding the shopping bags, which weigh him down. He’s not as quick as he otherwise might be, and Anne has time to pull him back. Aramis stops himself as soon as he feels her pulling at his shoulder. She gives him a hard look like _don’t do anything stupid_. He doesn’t say anything, but stands back and clenches his teeth.

“Cardinal,” Anne addresses him, as he stands smirking at the two of them. “Whatever might be going on here is none of your business. That’s all there is to it.”

“Funny you should use that word, _business_.” He turns serious now. “I’ve been trying to tell you for some time, our interests—business and otherwise—are aligning. It isn’t my fault that you refuse to listen.” He gives Anne a withering look. “And I thought you were smarter than your husband.”

“Leave Louis out of this,” she hisses.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the Cardinal says with an eyebrow raise in Aramis’ direction. “The present situation notwithstanding.” Aramis gives the shopping bags a disgruntled shake. “We’ll be seeing each other again soon,” the Cardinal says to Anne, his smirk back in place.

“I hope not,” Anne calls, as he begins to walk away.

“Sorry to disappoint!” He calls back to her with an almighty sneer. Then he disappears around the corner in a swoosh of black and red.

Anne drops the shopping bags she was holding and clenches her fists. The noise of New York comes back to her in an overwhelming rush. For a few moments, she’s aware that Aramis is speaking to her, but she can’t respond yet. All she can hear is the rumble of traffic, car horns blaring, and the Cardinal’s voice repeating the word _business_ over and over again in her head.

She clenches her fists even more tightly, until she can feel the metal of her wedding band cutting into her skin. The pain brings her back into the present moment. She knows the piece of information she’s missing. She had known it all along, it just had to come to the surface.

“Aramis,” she clutches at his shirt, pulling him towards her and not caring who sees. “What’s the name of the company that owns the Garrison?”

“What?” He asks, clearly thrown off.

“You said that, technically, Treville doesn’t own the Garrison himself, that an investment firm does. What’s the name of the firm?”

“Shit!” Aramis cries. “I can’t think of it off the top of my head.”

Anne doesn’t waste a second, she pulls him along behind her toward the hotel entrance. “Come on, we have to find out.”

D’Artagnan sees them coming, and the determination in Anne’s eye, and he opens the door for them without hesitation. Inside, Porthos is leaning across the front desk, apparently trying to cheer Athos up.

“Guys!” Aramis shouts across the lobby, not caring who hears him. “What’s the name of the company that owns this place? You know, the investment firm.”

Athos and Porthos blink at him for a moment, trying to remember.

“It’s so obvious, I can’t even remember,” Porthos laments. “It would be printed on our pay stubs, right?”

“Oh!” Athos snaps to attention. “Luckily I have one of mine.”

He reaches into his blazer and pulls out an envelope. He sets the pay stub down on the desk where they can all scan the page for the owner’s name.

“DeWinter Incorporated,” Aramis reads out loud.

Both Athos and Anne freeze, for different reasons.

“I’ve been such a fool this whole time,” Athos murmurs to himself. Aramis places a comforting hand on his shoulder while exchanging a glance with Porthos.

Porthos takes the hint and leans in to comfort Athos while Aramis turns back to Anne. “Does that name sound familiar to you?”

“Yes,” Anne slowly nods her head.

It’s familiar, but perhaps not in the way it should be. It’s not familiar from the contract or any paperwork to do with the hotel. But Anne remembers sifting through countless emails from the Cardinal’s assistant. She had never spoken to the assistant on the phone, they had only communicated electronically. Anne can see it in her mind’s-eye, the email sign-off that she had found so odd and abbreviated. It hadn’t been L’Hiver at all. Anne had automatically translated the name to French in her head, but of course it had been written in English: DeWinter.

“We may now have the proof we need,” Anne says.

“Go,” Aramis instructs, handing over the shopping bags. “Go and talk to Louis. Don’t let that contract go through!”

Anne rushes for the elevator, giving Aramis a nod over her shoulder in thanks. It’s all they have time for in the moment, Aramis has Athos to take care of, not to mention a hotel full of guests.

 

In the suite, Louis is standing at the dining room table, as though taking over Anne’s former place in surveying the contract. He’s twirling a Mont Blanc pen between his fingers but, luckily, Anne doesn’t see any ink on the paper yet.

“Out shopping?” he asks absently, hearing the crinkle of bags as Anne sets them down in the foyer.

“Not exactly,” she answers in a clipped tone.

She approaches him, her hands clasped together, not completely sure how to proceed with this. Louis does a double-take, noticing something is off with her.

“Qu’est-que tu as?” he asks in French. “Tu vas bien?”

Anne shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she answers, even though it’s not exactly the truth. “Louis, I don’t think you should sign that contract.”

Louis immediately draws himself up to his full height, and Anne sighs. She’s put up his defenses, gone about this the wrong way.

“You don’t want me to buy the Garrison?” He asks, his tone petulant.

“It’s not that. I just don’t think this is the right deal. Think about it, Louis,” she tries appealing to his sense of business. “You’re supposed to be acquiring this property from a major company, and yet you’ve never met the CEO, never even spoken on the phone?”

“I’ve met with a legal representative—”

“Precisely,” Anne emphasizes. “One lawyer. There should be a whole slew of accountants and lawyers working on this deal, taking care of due diligence. They should be driving you mad, calling you constantly with updates.”

Louis huffs out a sigh. “You don’t like the way this is being handled, you’ve made your point.”

“No, I’m not finished.”

Louis blinks, and Anne sees a flicker of what he must be to other people: a powerful man who is not in the habit of being denied what he wants. His eyes go dark for a moment, and she sees the abyss of spoiled anger that comes with many years of entitlement.

But Louis isn’t the only one in this room who is used to getting their way. Anne is as accustomed to wealth as he is. While she may not get the credit for it, she knows how to handle money: for personal gain, for business, and to help others. And her only recourse now is to remind Louis of this, that they’re in the business of being married together.

“Louis,” she takes a step toward him. “Please can’t you…” she stops herself from saying _trust me_. It’s too dishonest to ask trust of him considering to whom she’s just run for help down in the lobby. Anne takes a deep breath, braces herself and hardens her tone of voice. “Please take me seriously about this. I’m your wife. Can’t you do that for me?”

Louis smiles grimly, still twirling the pen around in his hands like a sword. He looks down, seemingly distracted, as the fancy metal flashes in the light.

“You know, when we first met, it seemed to me like it took you ages to learn French. I couldn’t believe it. Your French was even worse than your English.” Louis gives a little laugh while Anne stares, eyes narrowed, trying to make out his point. “I asked myself that same question: _how can I take this woman seriously? I’m meant to marry her but I can’t even speak to her_.”

“I suppose it never occurred to you that you could learn Spanish,” Anne spits out.

Louis looks directly at her now. She can see that his eyes are shining and he’s blinking to hold back tears.

“I was a naive, impatient fool, I realize that now. But, after all this time, after all we’ve been through—” he breaks off and swallows hard. “You are indispensible. I can hardly do anything but take you seriously, Anne. No matter what language you’re speaking.”

“Oh, Louis,” Anne murmurs. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a moment to sort through her emotions.

“Incidentally though, I am glad that your French has improved.”

She laughs then. “You’re terrible,” she says goodnaturedly, and he smiles tentatively at her.

They have never done declarations of love (certainly not with their wedding vows, which were pious and stern) and this is as close as Louis has ever come to admitting any real feelings for her. Anne thinks it’s as close she’s come to feeling true, emotional love for her husband and not just loyalty or familiar fondness. Both of their eyes are red-rimmed, and they look at each other shyly, as though for the first time.

“Louis, I should tell you,” Anne begins, and wonders for a moment what she’s going to say. There are many things to tell. “The Cardinal approached me again this afternoon. Just outside the building here.”

“What, again? And after I told him to stay away?” For a minute Louis seems most annoyed by the fact that someone disobeyed his orders. But then he looks at Anne again. “Is that what you were upset about when you came up here? You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

”Yes, I suppose so. I try to act like the Cardinal doesn’t upset me, but he does. And his fingerprints are all over this,” she gestures to the contract. “It’s a bad deal, Louis.”

“The Cardinal wants me to take it,” he confesses. “I was at lunch with him when I came up with the idea. It really was _my_ idea,” Louis emphasizes. “I won’t let him take credit for it. But he was very eager for me to make progress with the sale. And he called me just this afternoon to see if I had signed anything. Christ, he must have called me just before he went looking for you.” Louis shakes his head like he has water stuck in his ears. “The Cardinal wanted me to sign the contract,” he says again in a tone of disbelief. “He wants me to buy the Garrison.”

Anne moves closer to him. She gently pries the pen out of his hands. “Which is exactly why you can’t.”

“I know,” he says in a small voice.

Anne takes one of his hands and gives a squeeze before moving over to the dining room table. She sets the pen down and looks at the pages of the contract again. The whole thing is a lie, Anne is sure of it now, thirty pages of pure deceit from the Cardinal and his mysterious partner, DeWinter.

Overhead lighting illuminates the metallic design on the Mont Blanc pen. It catches Anne’s eye, the pen standing out to her, signaling something. Maybe two parties can play at this game.

“Or maybe…” Anne sits down. “Maybe you could sign a contract. Maybe we both could.”

“Ma chère,” Louis sits down next to her. “You look as though you’ve just had the most scintillating idea. Do share.”

“We need to go through your emails, dear. And don’t you have a contact at the FBI? We’re going to need that information, too.”

Louis pulls a chair up next to Anne, and the two of them get to work.

+

Aramis walks up the stairs at a steady pace, trying to keep his breathing calm, although his stomach is in knots. He’s had to throw out the odd belligerent or drunk guest before, sometimes physically manhandling them. And he had been around the first time that Treville had threatened the Cardinal and thrown him out of the building. Aramis, Athos, and Porthos had stayed out of it that time because, although they wanted to protect Treville, the feud was between Treville and the Cardinal. This time is different. Bad blood has turned into bad business, and it affects everyone.

Anne had contacted Treville, saying that she and Louis had a plan. Now, unbeknownst to the Cardinal, Aramis—along with Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan—are headed to the Garrison’s conference room to meet him. They’re taking the back stairs to scope out the area and make sure no one is lurking around, and also to take the Cardinal by surprise.

The conference room is on the same level as the salon and when they reach the landing, the four of them stop and look at each other for a moment without saying anything. Words aren’t needed, since the fiercely determined look in everyone’s eye is identical.

“Let’s go,” Athos says simply.

They push open the back door into the carpeted hallway and approach the fancy glass doors of the conference room. Through the glass, Aramis can see that the Cardinal is already there, along with a dark-haired woman. Aramis speeds up, adrenaline taking over, his nerves melting away.

The Cardinal stands up, leaning his hands on the table, as the four of them push into the room.

“What’s all this?” he demands in a suspicious, imperious tone.

“No need to stand up on our account,” Porthos says jovially. “We’re just security.”

“Treville needs security for a routine meeting, does he?” The Cardinal sneers.

“No,” Aramis speaks up. “You should be aware that we’re here at Madame de Bourbon’s request specifically.”

The Cardinal narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to have a response to this news.

“Speaking of her,” D’Artagnan says, closing the conference room doors. “She and her husband should be here any minute. Feel free to make yourself comfortable while you wait.”

The four of them take their places, each standing in a corner of the room. The Cardinal eyes them warily, but takes his seat again at the conference table.

His companion has remained seated this whole time. She’s outfitted in a dark blue dress and has an ornate choker clasped around her neck. Athos stares at her as though he could bore a hole right through her with his gaze, but she remains stony-faced. Her impenetrable nature is unsettling; Aramis is terrified of her.

There is a noise outside in the corridor, and Aramis looks up to see Louis and Treville each holding a door open for Anne to enter the room. They stand like that for a moment, Anne in front flanked by her husband and Treville. She seems to gleam more than usual in the light today: her shoes are a metallic snakeskin pattern, her jewelry is all glinting sterling silver, her eyes reflecting a bracing grey light. She has steeled herself over for this meeting.

Aramis is the first person she looks for. They only share a quick glance—there are more pressing issues right now. Still, he gives her a subtle nod in greeting.

Anne composes herself, and knowing she has command of the entire room, she takes her time.

“Hello Cardinal,” she speaks up. “Thank you for coming, we have a few important business matters to settle today.” Her tone is authoritative, and Aramis would believe that she’s a real queen. “But, before we begin, forgive my bad manners. I don’t believe I’ve ever properly met your associate here.”

Finally the woman next to the Cardinal stands up. “I’m Milady DeWinter,” she says, leaning across the table to shake Anne’s hand. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

Aramis rolls his eyes, but Anne has better etiquette and smiles graciously at her.

“Milady!” Louis exclaims, as he takes a seat. “Everyone is going by such fanciful names these days. I’m going to start referring to myself as the actual King of France, and everyone else will simply have to go along with it.”

“Louis,” Anne gives him a look as she sits down next to him. “Do you have the paperwork?”

“I gave it to Treville for safekeeping, ma chère.”

“You can call yourself the king of whatever you like once we have this deal finalized,” the Cardinal tells Louis, his eyes lit up with an indecent eagerness.

“I only want France,” Louis says in a tone indicating that the Cardinal doesn’t understand him at all. “But my wife is quite right, we’re here to discuss business, so let’s get to it.”

Treville opens a briefcase and pulls out a stack of documents. “I have everything right here.” He slides two packets across the table, one for Milady and one for the Cardinal. “I think you’ll both find the information enclosed there very interesting.”

Louis gives a little giggle. “We certainly found it _interesting_.” Then he leans across the table towards the Cardinal, his eyes gone dark with anger, and Aramis finds himself backing further up against his corner of the room. It’s just that, in his supreme self-confidence, Louis actually looks rather menacing.

Anne clears her throat. “My husband and I went through all of our correspondence with you, Cardinal” she interjects. “And with your assistant.”

“All of those emails,” Louis sighs theatrically. “And do you know what we discovered?”

“Please,” the Cardinal says. “Enlighten us.”

Anne smiles. “Our first ever email from your lovely assistant here was a recommendation for this very hotel. I believe the description was “a charming place to stay while browsing for properties in the city.”

“Not impressed yet?” Louis asks in the face of the stony silence from the other side of the table. “Don’t worry, we’re just getting started.”

“It’s all my fault, really,” Treville speaks up. “In the beginning, I was so eager to get my own hotel off the ground. I wanted a place with top-notch, friendly service, you know. I felt like I owed it to New York, like the city really needed it. When I found the perfect property and someone to fund the renovation, I was too excited to question it. Now I know it was too good to be true. I’ve finally done the research into DeWinter Incorporated that I should have done in the first place. And these two helped me—” here he gestures to Anne and Louis. “They helped me uncover the link between DeWinter and Cardinal North Realty.”

“Armand,” Louis wags his finger at the Cardinal. “You’ve been playing the most wicked trick on us all this time.”

“This woman isn’t your assistant, is she?” Anne frames it as a question, but her tone is authoritative. “She’s your boss.”

The Cardinal heaves a sigh and leans back in his chair and it’s like he deflates at the thought of people knowing that he’s not in charge. Meanwhile, Milady merely raises an eyebrow like _so what?_

It’s Treville’s turn to speak again, and Aramis wonders briefly if they’ve rehearsed this.

“After speaking with several former clients of DeWinter Incorporated, I can see why it would be beneficial for you to hide behind Cardinal North. None of the former clients were very happy. In fact, all of them seemed to have a claim about money mysteriously going missing.”

“It’s easy to see,” Louis says, waving his hand. “Working with outrageously wealthy clients, millions of dollars constantly changing hands. It might take awhile to notice a couple thousand dollars being misplaced.”

“But a couple thousand per client adds up,” Anne says. “And clients talk to each other.”

“And you got greedy,” Louis adds. “I suppose, in a way, I should be flattered. You emailed us all the way back in July about staying at the Garrison. You targeted us for a seriously long con. But no,” Louis shakes his head. “It’s the sheer arrogance of the plan that really gets to me. You drew up a contract to essentially sell the Garrison to yourself, and make a good chunk of money off of me in the process. Did you honestly think it would work?”

Milady tilts her head, surveying Louis. “You enjoy the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” She gives a little chuckle and a shrug. “It was worth a try. Can you really blame me?” She turns to Treville. “I bought this property all those years ago because I wanted to. Because, believe it or not, I actually liked this property and wanted it to do well.”

Treville scoffs, and, from his corner, Athos makes a move towards the table. Aramis tries telepathically telling Porthos to watch him through. Luckily, Porthos seems to get the message, and inches sideways toward Athos.

Milady isn’t finished yet. She continues addressing Treville: “When I noticed the Cardinal fighting you over the hotel a few years ago, I thought why not make a move? I already had a deal with you, a mostly legal one. Why not try a deal with the other guy, too?”

“Playing people against each other never works,” Anne says.

“Says who?” Milady asks with a laugh. “It turned out to be enormously convenient for me. And who says this current deal isn’t a success? Unless my eyes deceive me, the two of you signed our contract.”

“Listen to yourself!” Treville is outraged now. “You’ve been syphoning money off of clients for years, and you’re laughing about it. The fact that you had good intentions when you initially funded the Garrison doesn’t excuse any of it.”

“It is kind of fascinating,” Louis drawls. “I’d love to hear more from your twisted point-of-view about how you pulled this off for so many years, but I guess we’ll have to wait to hear about it in court.”

“Court?” Milady scoffs. “I have the contract.” She begins collecting the papers on the table as though getting ready to leave.

“I wouldn’t worry about all of that,” Anne says, motioning to the papers Milday is holding. “Details. Props. Things you won’t be needing in jail.”

Milady scoffs again.

Louis rests his hand on top of Anne’s. “The thing about being fantastically wealthy and powerful is that, when you make a call to the FBI, they tend to pay attention.”

Milady freezes. “The FBI?” Her mouth drops open for a second, a gap in her armor of placid impassiveness.

“You didn’t think we’d take this to the local precinct and leave it at that, did you?” Treville asks.

There’s a rustling from a certain corner of the room, as Athos launches himself toward the table shouting: “You’re a criminal! You deserve it!”

Milady throws her hands up in the air as though she can’t be bothered with Athos on top of everything else.

Porthos is on top of the situation as quickly as he can be, making a valiant effort to hold Athos back as he continues to shout, although it’s mostly incoherent now. “I cannot believe! All these years! I should have known.”

Aramis sidesteps a little closer to d’Artagnan to reassure him. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he says out of the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t you do anything stupid!” D’Artagnan shoots right back. “The FBI are in the building.”

Aramis gives him a nod like _touché_ , and then checks in with Treville, who is obviously concerned for Athos.

“Keep an eye on Milady,” Treville advises him in a low voice. “The Feds should be here any second to arrest her, but I don’t want her to make a bolt for it. Especially not with Athos in his current state. And tell d’Artagnan to guard the doors.”

Aramis is honestly scared as he moves closer to Milady, trying to be subtle enough not to antagonize her, but still come off as vaguely intimidating. When she casts him a withering stare, he knows that he’s failing. He can’t help noticing that, even as she looks disdainfully at him, she remains as beautiful as ever. And as amusing as it is to imagine Athos as someone’s husband, he can see why Athos would want to marry her.

D’Artagnan moves out of the way as the conference room doors burst open, and six men in uniforms and bulletproof vests make their way around the conference table to face Milady and the Cardinal. Aramis expects it to be chaotic, but it’s actually extremely orderly, with Milady being arrested rather quietly on charges of racketeering. She stands up and manages to give the impression that she is the one allowing the federal agent to handcuff her, and Aramis really has to admire her.

Aramis follows a step behind her and the two agents escorting her toward the doors, just in case.

Milady stops in front of Louis and Anne just before the doors. “I’m curious,” she asks them. “Why did you sign the contract at all if this was your plan?”

“Ah, that pesky contract. I’m glad you asked.” Louis smiles at her. “Since your company has been found to be corrupt, the contract on the table states that Anne and myself are now the owners of the Garrison. We wouldn’t presume to take responsibility for your other properties, but this one belongs to us now.”

“So you got your hotel after all.” Milady sounds impressed. “I admit it, I might have underestimated you.”

Louis shakes his head. “Credit where credit is due, it was all my wife’s idea.”

“Of course, your dear wife,” Milady drawls. Something in her tone shifts, and Aramis’ senses go on high alert. “And what about her? Do you think she belongs to you?”

Louis looks confused by the question, but Aramis knows exactly what Milady’s point is. It suddenly becomes clear why she’s been so calm this entire time, why she hasn’t tried to escape. She may be handcuffed, but she still has a trump card to play if she wants to, one that would destroy the unified dynamic of the group.

Aramis looks over the federal agent’s shoulder to try and meet Anne’s eye, but Anne is looking at Milady. She blinks, but otherwise seems composed in her steely armor, far more composed than Aramis feels.

“I belong to myself,” Anne says. “I’m sure you would appreciate that, Milady.”

Silence stretches for a moment as the two women share a look. Something seems to pass between them, and Aramis isn’t sure what it is. But it appears that Milady is satisfied with Anne’s response. She gives Anne a nod in acknowledgement and then motions to the agents that she’s ready to leave.

Everything that happens after that is a blur to Aramis. The Cardinal is also arrested—with much protesting—as an accomplice. Treville calls for Constance to bring up a bottle of champagne to toast the new official owners of the Garrison.

It’s not much of a celebratory mood though. Athos is quiet now, but he remains in a heavier mood than ever. Aramis tries to catch Anne’s eye again, but, when she sees him, she gives a little shake of her head. She seems exhausted, wrung out.

Aramis sits down at the conference table away from the others. He should feel relieved that Milady didn’t reveal his and Anne’s relationship, yet all he can feel is an ache in his chest. He looks down the table to where Anne is sitting and it hits him: she is leaving.

Anne and Louis may own the Garrison now, but their trip has turned out to be more dramatic than they bargained for. They’ll need a break from all of this, from the Garrison, from New York. She will return to the penthouse suite in a few minutes to begin packing and making arrangements to return to Europe.

Porthos wanders over and takes a seat next to Aramis. He raises his champagne glass in a mini-toast and frowns when this doesn’t elicit a response. “Alright?” he asks.

“Alright,” Aramis replies, raising his glass to clink it with the one Porthos is still holding in mid-air.

But his unenthusiastic tone must’ve given him away, and Porthos follows Aramis’ gaze down the table to Anne. He sets a hand on Aramis’ shoulder. “Everyone is safe now. We caught the bad guys, remember? You can stop worrying.”

“I know,” Aramis nods, giving a wry smile. “It’s just hard to get out of that mindset. It’s hard to let go.”

Porthos nods like he gets it, and gives Aramis’ shoulder a squeeze. Aramis downs the rest of his champagne in one go.

+

Anne walks through the suite, doing the first of several checks for forgotten items. The penthouse looks strangely stark now with everything neatly packed away. No shoes littering the floor, no scarves strewn over the backs of chairs. All of their books, magazines, and iPads are packed away in carry-on luggage. The suite is starting to look like any generic hotel penthouse again, and the sight has Anne clenching her jaw and swallowing hard against the lump forming in her throat.

The elevator buzzer echoes throughout the suite

“Louis!” she calls. “Treville is here.”

“On my way!” he responds, emerging from the master bedroom, trying and failing to carry a Goyard trunk on his own.

“What’s gotten into you? Put that down before you hurt yourself,” Anne instructs with a laugh. “We’ll call Porthos and d’Artagnan up to help with the luggage.”

“I thought I’d try to be helpful,” Louis grumbles, slightly out of breath. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

The ding of the elevator can be heard from the entryway followed by the sound of Treville’s footsteps on the hardwood floor. Louis dusts his hands off as though he’s done a hard day’s work, and then rushes over to greet Treville with a kiss to each cheek.

Treville seems taken aback by this intimate greeting. “Ah, getting ready to go back to France, I see?”

“We are,” Anne responds, taking one of Treville’s hands and giving a little squeeze. “It’s sad to be leaving, but we’re so glad you could take a couple of minutes to meet with us one last time.”

Treville inclines his head toward Anne like a little bow of acknowledgment.

“Yes,” Louis picks up where Anne left off. “We’re glad because we have a little business proposition for you.”

Treville raises his eyebrows. “I’m intrigued…”

“As you know, Anne and I don’t reside in the States, and our lifestyle means that we won’t always be here to directly oversee the management of the Garrison. We need someone with extensive experience to help us. Luckily that’s something you can help us with.”

“Sure,” Treville says, his eyebrows furrowed, not catching on quite yet.

Anne decides to step in. “What my husband is trying to say is that we’d like to do business with you. Real business. We’d like you to have a stake in ownership of the hotel, and stay on as manager as well. With an increase in pay, of course.”

“Ownership?” Treville’s mouth falls open and he takes a step backward. “I… I don’t know what to say!”

Anne and Louis exchange a smile.

“Please say you’ll do it,” Louis says.

“No one knows what the Garrison needs better than you do,” Anne adds. “You’ll be a fantastic owner-manager.”

“I apologize for being so overwhelmed,” Treville says, pulling at his uniform, trying to get himself under control. “Thank you for the offer and, yes, I’d love to be partners with you in ownership.”

“We were hoping that would be your response,” Louis smiles. “We have lawyers working to make it happen right now. Since we’re going back to France so soon, we wanted to have you in charge as soon as possible.”

Treville bows his head. “I’m sorry to see you leave, but I’ll do my best to hold down the fort here in your absence.”

Anne steps forward. “Since this is our first discussion as ownership partners, may I make a suggestion?”

“Of course,” Treville answers.

“I’ve been thinking,” Anne begins. “The Garrison: it’s worked as a name all these years. But after everything that’s recently happened, this place could use a fresh start. Luckily the hotel already has an emblem we can work with.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a keycard. Anne taps the fleur-de-lys symbol printed on the face of the card and hands it to Treville.

Treville gasps. “Hotel Fleur-de-Lys.” He smiles at Anne. “It’s perfect. How funny, the symbol has been staring me in the face all these years but I never would have thought of it as the name on my own.”

Anne squeezes his hand again. “That’s why we’re partners now. Sometimes you just need another pair of eyes to help you see what’s in front of you.”

 

After many more walk-throughs of the penthouse and several trips up and down on the elevator with luggage trolleys, Anne, Louis, and all their things are in the lobby and ready to set off for the airport. There are two black Mercedes waiting for them outside: one car for their luggage and one car for the two of them. Louis makes himself busy shaking everyone’s hands and being very bossy about where the luggage should be placed.

Anne makes her own rounds saying goodbye to everyone. Constance gives her a sweet hug, d’Artagnan gives her a wink, Porthos wraps her in a bear hug, and to Anne’s great surprise, Athos gives her a polite kiss on the cheek.

There is one last person to say goodbye to, and Anne doesn’t know how she’s going to do it. She makes her way over to Aramis, who’s standing by the door and laughing at Athos. Anne finds herself smiling despite the bittersweet circumstances and she relaxes, knowing that goodbye will be just like everything else between them: done with a laugh.

“I think you have an admirer,” Aramis says, nodding towards Athos.

“Oh dear,” she smiles. “There’s been some mistake. Athos has been my admirer this whole time.”

“Yes, and I’m the one with the ex-wife who tried to scam you for millions.”

They laugh some more, and Anne gestures out the door. “Shall we?”

Aramis holds the door open and two of them settle outside under the hotel’s blue awning. It’s easier to feel anonymous outside in the middle of the relentless noise of the city. It’s easier to be just Anne and Aramis, without other complications.

“Well, Treville is walking on air. I doubt he’ll ever come down from this high. I understand that we have you to blame for that,” Aramis jokes.

“Yes,” Anne nods. “I hope he never stops enjoying the job, he’ll do wonderful things with the hotel.”

“And I hear we’re in for a name change as well?”

“Yes, what do you think of it?”

Aramis taps his chin as though thinking hard. “I think it’s appropriately French, considering the new owners.”

“Treville’s family is French, too.”

“Of course,” Aramis agrees. “Every time I see the new name, I will think of the person who suggested it.” Anne bites her lip, and she and Aramis hold each other’s gaze. “I’m talking about Louis, of course,” Aramis adds. “He’s the one who suggested it, right?”

Anne punches him in the shoulder.

“Speaking of names,” Anne begins. “I want to share one last thing with you before I go.” Aramis nods, his features settling into that easy, natural look he gets when listening to her. “You once asked me to speak to you in Spanish, to tell you the bedtime stories my mother used to tell me. I don’t remember the stories, so I can’t repeat them. But the one thing I can tell you is that my mother used to call me Anna. That was my name.”

“Was?”

“Louis would never think to use a non-French name, it’s not a possibility. There’s no one to call me Anna anymore, so I thought I would tell you. It can be yours, if you ever think of me.”

Aramis nods in understanding, but doesn’t say anything for a moment. He kicks idly at the sidewalk, and Anne waits for him to gather his thoughts. “But you’ll be back once in awhile, right?” He asks eventually. “To take care of business here?”

“Yes, you know our lifestyle, outlaws can’t stay in one place for too long. But, when I come back…” Anne trails off trying to think of how to put this delicately. “I don’t know… I don’t expect…”

Aramis holds up a hand to stop her. “I know. If and when you do come back, I don’t expect things to be the same.”

Anne lets out a sigh of relief, never so grateful that he always understands her.

“Putting aside everything else,” Aramis begins in a playful tone, “I believe you’re my boss now. An affair would be very untoward.”

“An affair with the boss?” Anne raises an eyebrow before bursting into laughter. “You love it.”

“I _would_ love it, which is why it would be so untoward.”

“Terrible,” Anne shakes her head. “I’m firing everyone at this hotel and hiring new people.”

“Probably a wise decision,” Aramis agrees. Then he raises his voice to speak in a slightly more formal tone: “Take care not to miss your flight, Madame.”

“Thank you, Aramis,” Anne replies, her manner very stiff and formal from trying not to let emotion get the best of her. “Thank you for everything, mon ami.”

Before she can walk away, Aramis takes her hand. She doesn’t pull away, and in fact, laces their fingers together. It is their last moment together, she’ll allow herself this.

Aramis leans in close. “To me, Fleur-de-Lys will always mean Anna,” he whispers.

With one last look, Aramis lets her hand go. And quite suddenly he’s back in business mode: calling out to Porthos, asking where d’Artagnan is, and whether Athos is okay.

Anne shakes both of her hands out and takes a deep breath. She walks very calmly over to the black Mercedes sedan waiting by the curb, and slides into the back seat next to her husband.

“Ma chère, I’ve never seen you look so down after saying goodbye to people,” Louis comments as Pierre merges the car into traffic. “It is surprisingly sad, this leaving business. But we’ll be back from time to time.”

“I think I need a long break from New York after this.”

“I know what you mean. Our stay certainly wasn’t boring.” Louis gives a little chuckle. “After everything, it was incredible to see the Cardinal being led away by a team of federal agents. It was rather funny, really. The look on his face…”

Anne giggles. “I thought his head was going to explode.”

“That would’ve been a sight,” Louis outright cackles now. “I can’t believe all that time he was manipulating us for the sake of, what’s that woman’s name? Milady.”

“Hmm,” Anne hums in response. She puts on a pair of sunglasses and stares out the window.

As satisfying as it had been to see the Cardinal get his due, Anne still wonders about Milady. Anne had felt almost spellbound when Milady had stopped in front of her and questioned her allegiance to Louis. Anne can see why Milady had been so calm about being arrested: she obviously has the type of commanding personality and resourcefulness to somehow make jail time work for her, or to evade it altogether.

Still, there had been a melancholy air about Milady, about her surprising predilection for quietness, and the way it matched Athos’ own silence. She had been wearing that gorgeous, but most likely heavy choker around her neck, and Anne knows all about dressing for battle and using accessories to gain advantage. (Anne adjusts her sunglasses, which she is currently using as self-protection.) She wonders what emotion Milady could have been communicating or concealing by choosing to wear an ornate piece in such a visible and vulnerable place.

Anne flicks her sunglasses up on top of her head. It isn’t any of her business. Anne had meant what she said: she and her secrets belong to herself, and the same must be true of Milady.

“I’m glad we’re going back to France for a little while,” Anne says, as the car approaches JFK airport. “And just in time for Christmas, too.”

Next to her, Louis nods in perfect agreement.

 

Anne imagines what it will be like to resume her Parisian activities after New York. It will be nice, in a way, going back to a routine and seeing familiar faces. Anne is looking forward to returning to her favorite café on the Left Bank. She imagines going in and choosing a little table for herself by the window so as to watch passersby. She will bring a copy of Colette short stories to browse through and to help her get back into reading French. She’ll order just a coffee, and sit contentedly stirring it, while taking in the sights and sounds of Paris all around her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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